Part of the Fire
by daysofinspirationx
Summary: I remember that day. I remember it in all of its essence. It was December ..
1. A Cold Loft

**Author's Note**: Hey all! Well, this would happen to be my first official rent fanfiction and I couldn't be more excited for it! This idea has been floating around in my head for days and I needed to get it down somewhere. Not a very strong way to start off on the site but hey, might as well give it a shot. Just so you all know, the main character 'Mia' who narrates the story is not actually myself. She's fictional. Alright, I hope you enjoy this and like the concept. Read and review, por favore? Thank you all.

_Disclaimer: I don't own RENT. … Damn._

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I remember that day. I remember it in all of its essence. It was December. December 24th, 9 PM. The city was alive; every window or street corner vibrant with color. Past the grim shadows of heartbreak and lost hope, you could see something beautiful. Christmas had meant a million different things to the people of that city, but for me it was a time of finding myself. I had been searching all up and down the Lower East Side, and there I stood in front of the walk-up I had been searching for. Jonathan Larson had laid his eyes on that walk-up more then 10 years ago and knew this was where his characters were going to thrive within his mind. I dug my hands deeper into my coat. I could see my breath hanging in the hair. I exhaled, let out my heart in one breath to paint this city before I climbed the stairs to who I was, and then started in.

I ascended the stairs, slowly, surely, not quite sure of what I was looking for or what I expected to find, but I felt more complete with each step. I passed floor by floor, feeling even more caught up in something that wasn't real as I got higher. The 2nd highest floor – an apartment. The door was ajar. I peered in. No one was there. Of course no one was there. What was I expecting? This walk-up was abandoned and besides…the people I was looking for didn't really exist. Up one more – and there was the loft. The loft Jonathan knew was meant to be the basis of the environment of his characters. The heavy door separated me from a world I believed in, but wasn't real – the world my best friends inhabited. I leaned against the cold metal. I knocked. I knew no one was there to open it, but I knocked anyway. My entire past and who I had become was invested in fictional people who I wanted so desperately to really live behind this door. This cold door. Cold. Cold season. Cold city. Cold reality. It was a cold world, and the only people who lit it up for me were a couple of Bohemians. They sparked a fire. I wanted to be part of that fire.

Against my better judgment, I knocked again. Cold air. Christmas. How I was yet to know what it'd bring.

The door opened.

"Yes?"

I froze. Like the frost on their window. Like the dead passion in their eyes. Like their own worlds that they were forced to plod through. Frozen.

"Uhm, are you alright?"

The ice started to break in my chest.

"Oh my God.."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"I.. I…" I spun around, rubbed my eyes, and twirled back to face him. His cold gaze was still settled on me. He was real. No, no. He couldn't be real.

"You can't be real…" I couldn't hear myself anymore. He chuckled nervously.

"Pretty sure I am. Last time I checked, anyway." He tilted his head. "You uh, you don't look too good. Is something wrong?"

"I… I… don't know where I am."

He inhaled deeply.

"Yeah uh.." He rubbed his temples in frustration. "Come on in."

I couldn't move. I felt his palm on my lower back pushing me into the loft.

"Rog?" He called.

I couldn't take anything in. My eyes were overflowing with poignantly beautiful sights I never thought I'd really see. I saw the wood-burning stove. The extension cords. Their phone and answering machine. Roger's guitar.

"Hey what…uh, Mark?"

And then I saw Roger.

"Roger. Roger Davis." I choked.

His features snapped. Something in his face broke.

"How do you know my name?" He rasped.

"I…" I couldn't answer him. I had enough questions exploding in my brain. "Mark Cohen…"

Mark leaned forward with bulging eyes. The companions looked at each other tentatively.

"Your camera. That's right!" I walked over to Mark's camera rested on the metal table. I cradled it in my arms and fingered the antique parts. I could feel it; this was real.

"Your documentary..."

"Alright. This is scary." Mark grabbed his camera from me.

"Yeah, who are you?!" Roger demanded.

I watched them as their eyes urged in disbelief.

"I'm…Mia."

"Mia. Alright. Well, I guess there's no need for our names; you seem to know us already." Mark joked.

"Yeah, and we'd like to know how!" Roger grunted.

Again, I faced their stares. It was too much to take in. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe I'd be in the presence of those stares.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I breathed.

Roger crossed his arms against that green fleece. It was torn at the elbow. I'd known that though.

"Try us." He dared.

I shrugged off the question and took another look around. Lyrics flashed in my head.

"What's today?!" I asked frantically.

Mark sighed sympathetically. "December 24th."

"9 PM."

"Eastern Standard Time?" I whispered.

Roger heard. "What else?"

And then it hit me –

"1989?!"

"Maybe you should sit down…" Mark led me to their beat up sofa and sat beside me. Roger sat on the arm of the chair across from us.

"Let's start over." Mark scooted a little closer. "You're Mia?"

I nodded. "Mia Cordon." I filled in. The name sounded so foreign now.

"Nice to meet you, Mia Cordon." Mark shook my hand. I let out a nervous breath.

"Mark. I'm Mark."

He looked to Roger with my hand still cupped in his.

He gave in. "Hey. I'm Roger."

"Hello." These introductions felt redundant; I felt like I knew these boys for years. And I had. Just…not in this sense.

"Can I ask what you're doing here?" At hearing his voice, I looked into Mark's compassionate eyes. He seemed frightened, nervous even. Roger couldn't wait for me to leave.

"Honestly…I can't tell you that."

Mark frowned. "Alright. Where are you from?"

It took me a moment to figure out how to answer that.

"I live in Queens." And I did. Just not then.

"How did you get to our walk-up, then?"

Another toughie.

"I…came looking for someone."

"And did you find them?"

I paused. "Suprisingly…I did."

"Wonderful." Roger sniped. Mark shot him a glare. He stopped talking.

"Are you alright? You look pretty lost."

"I am lost." But, I wasn't. Not in everything I'd ever dreamed of. "I mean…I can't go home."

"Why not?"

"I don't know how. Besides, I don't think I'm ready to go home yet."

"Alright, I got a question." I looked up at Roger. I nodded.

"How do you know our names?"

"Friends." I locked eyes and dared him to challenge me. He knew I was bluffing. But he backed down.

"I see."

"Look uh do you need to see someone?" Mark started. "A…doctor or something?"

"I'm not insane!"

"Could have fooled me."

"Roger!" Mark yelped. "Come on, man."

"Look, I can't go home. I think I have to…stay here a while. In the city. Until I figure things out."

How could I figure this out? My head was swimming, and I wasn't going to rationalize until I had time to think.

"Where are you staying?" Mark interrogated. His hand brushed against mine.

"I don't know." I looked away. Things were getting fuzzy, and I was starting to lose myself.

"Well uhm, if you wanna…"

"Mark." Roger cut him off.

Mark looked back with hard eyes. I turned to the window.

"Mark. Here." They whispered over by the metal table. I took the time to sort through my head. It was impossible; physically impossible. And yet…there they were. How could this have happened? There needed to be a reason. There needed to be a logical explanation. There was for everything, wasn't there?

"Hey," Mark started walking back to me.

"If you wanna stay here tonight, you can. I…don't think you should go out there."

"What? I can't…I don't think I'm –"

"Come on, it's Christmas Eve." He cracked a smile. I returned it slowly.

"It is. Isn't it?" I looked into my lap for a moment. "Alright." I met his gaze again.

"Thank you so much. I needed this." I added fast.

"Maybe we did too." I don't think he realized the significance of those words. I know I didn't. Yet.

Mark elbowed his roommate. "Yeah, whatever. Don't worry about it."

"Do you want to lie down a little? You look a little frazzled."

Thank you lord for Mark Cohen.

"Yes, that'd be great." I smiled.

"Crash in Benny's old room. Hasn't been here in months." Roger still had his arms crossed. I tried to lock eyes with him. He turned away.

"Thank you both." I decided not to say anything else and started down the hall.

The room was pitch black. I turned the lights on. Not much difference. I padded the cold wood floor quietly. Everything seemed undisturbed and untouched. I felt like an invasive presence. Well, wasn't I? Was I a character? Was I conceived by Jonathan too?

_Yeah, in your dreams maybe._

I flopped onto Benny's bed. I shut my eyes and tried to think things through. I needed logic. I needed reason. These characters; these characters who became my family; I was suddenly face-to-face with them. It had to be a dream. Everything I imagined in coming to this loft was a dream. I had to leave. I had to go home. But I knew if I walked out that door, I'd still be in 1989, in a place and time that never really existed. I needed logic. I needed reason.

And then it hit me – when before had I lived by either?

Guitar chords. Bittersweet and raw. Mark's gawky voice.

"We begin on Christmas Eve with me, Mark, and my roommate Roger. We live in an industrial loft on the corner of 11th Street and Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory…"

His documentary. _Oh my god_, I sat up. I waltzed right into Jonathan's story. But the story was being lived.

Did Jonathan know?

The loft was cold.

"...Inside we are freezing because we have no heat."

_Oh right. I knew that._

I tried to drown out Mark's voice. But I waited for the next few words. I **needed** the next few words to be positive of my fate.

"December 24th, 9 PM. Eastern Standard Time…" And I knew I was in RENT.

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**Author's Note**: Well, that was just a little taste. I'd like to get your feedback, so do me a favor and let me know. I want to know if you guys want to hear more. I have an idea of the rest of the story, and I think it could be something great. Let me know, alright? Thank you all for reading! 


	2. The Future's Glow

**Author's Note:** Hey all, back again with the 2nd chapter. Let me know what you think, eh? I want to know if I should still continue this. Do I hear more reviews? )

Benny's room was suddenly suffocating me.

And I couldn't stand sitting on that bed knowing living just down the hall were the people I had always wished were real.

The loft was cold, but I shed my jacket and left it on Benny's bed. Cautiously, I padded down the hall. Mark stood leaning over the couch with his camera rolling where Roger sat plucking away at his guitar. He strummed a few sour chords and slammed it on the arm of the couch.

"This thing won't tune!"

"So we hear." I mumbled.

The roommates turned to me. My jaw dropped. I glanced around and swallowed hard.

"What did you just say?" Roger spoke slowly, his words dripping with disdain.

I was here 15 minutes, and one of the people I lived my life by already hated me.

"I think I can tune it." I whispered.

Roger made a face and then crossed his arms. Mark sat on the arm of the couch, camera lying in his lap, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Roger.

I knew to wait for Roger's permission.

"Be my guest." He stood up and threw out his arms as if to present the guitar.

I padded softly in my fur calf-high boots across the loft to the couch. I looked to Mark; he nodded. So I sat and gripped the guitar. A chill ran through me. The guitar felt weightless in my hands as my frigid fingers slowly positioned themselves. I fiddled with it and could feel Roger's heavy gaze on me the whole time. Mark's eyes were light, but I could feel them too. The chords kept coming out sour, but soon enough a pitch rang and echoed in the empty loft. I heard Mark gasp hesitantly under his breath.

I strummed it once more and looked to Roger. The guitar was big in my lap, and then the weight finally hit me. He grabbed it from me with ease and I ran my frozen hands down my thighs as I stood.

"Should play fine, now." I said to him. There was no movement in his face for a long time. Then a curve of his lip.

"Thanks." He grumbled. It was good enough for me.

"How do you know how to tune a guitar?" Mark wondered, pleasantly surprised. I turned to him and smiled.

"My brother plays a little." It was half-true.

Roger hit a few notes and moved his fingers up and down a scale.

"Perfect." He let out. His eyes met mine; he knew I must be able to play. No one could tune a guitar that fast. Mark sat baffled.

He picked up his camera. "Close on Mia, who dropped in out of nowhere and is giving Roger a run for his money." I put my hand up to block the camera, but Mark danced around me to get a shot so I finally gave in.

"Hey. Not yet." Roger released what resembled a smile. I couldn't feel more on top of the world.

Mark immediately jerked his head to capture that smile. He did. He smiled behind his camera and as it rolled, I silently stood to the side watching the two of them. Mark's face was lit up, and I could hear the fullness of every breath he took. A smile from Roger granted him another day. The loft shone a little brighter just then. Roger avoided the camera, and Mark threw a pillow at him. They bickered back and forth, and I couldn't believe what I was in the middle of. They had so much more then what I had seen onstage so many times.

"A filmmaker, huh? What's the documentary on?" I questioned as I sat beside Roger warily. He scooted over to make room. I knew then I didn't want to leave.

Mark seemed skeptical for a moment, but then smiled. That smile healed all wounds.

"A year in the life of my friends. Just showing how they live and where they're going." He turned to Roger and trailed off. Roger was still fingering the guitar but Mark watched him intently. He wasn't smiling any longer. I saw the pain in Mark's eyes for the first time then. There was fire behind that icy blue; a flame of fear that would always burn from now until the moment Roger was gone.

I didn't want that flame to be extinguished. Because it could only mean one thing.

I reached over to Mark and touched his camera. His gaze broke and he looked down at his lap and then up at me. I tilted my head to the side and as his hands grabbed the camera too, I helped him lift it. I looked to Roger. Mark smiled at me gratefully, and knew to continue filming.

"Tell the folks at home what you're doing Roger."

Roger didn't even look up at Mark. He kept his eyes set on the guitar, tracing figures with his fingertips on the cold instrument.

"I'm writing one great song –"

A ring. The three of us looked up.

"The phone." Mark mumbled.

"Screen."

"_Speakkkkkkkk."_

"Chestnuts roasting-" A voice sung. Mark jumped out and Roger finally dropped the guitar.

"Collins!" He yelped as soon as he picked up the phone.

"Hey! Nice to see you're still screening." I could hear Collins' voice crackling out of the receiver.

"Yeah, yeah. You here to stay?" Roger leaned forward intently.

"I'm home for Christmas, ain't I? Throw down the key, assholes." Mark tossed the phone over me to Roger. He didn't speak into the receiver. He placed it in my hands.

"You probably have more to say than I do." Brooding Roger was back. I sighed. I placed my hand on his leg and he coiled away. I bit my lip angrily. _You've relied on them, but they haven't relied on you._

Mark was fumbling for the keys on the counter.

"Mark-" Collins' voice was suddenly meek. Roger's eyes grew big for a moment in worry, but they deflated back. I held the phone to him. He refused to take it.

"MARK!" A yell of terror. Collins had never screamed like that; I could tell by Roger's face. He stared at the phone and then grabbed it,

"Collins!" The line was dead.

"Roger, what are you doing?"

"Man, he just screamed your name!"

"What?" Mark slowly dropped the keys now in his hand back on the counter and scampered to the fire escape. The phone rang. Mark and Roger both looked to me.

"Hello?"

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"Benny." I blurted. Neither of them took a moment to figure out how I knew his name.

"Shit!"

"Mark? Roger? Guys, I'm on my way there."

"For what?" Roger demanded, ripping the phone from my hands.

"The rent."

"What rent?" Mark hollered. He slammed the speaker button as he passed the phone. He kneeled beside Roger.

"This year's rent. That I let slide for you guys."

"Benny, what are you talking about? _You_ paid our rent. Because you knew about Roger's…" Mark stopped when Roger glared in his direction. Mark gaze him a confused expression, and I saw Roger snap his head toward me. Although, he didn't know I already knew about him. I knew quite a lot about him.

Benny continued to speak. "Times are a'changin' my friends."

"Oh, they have been. Remember when you lived here, Benny?" Mark questioned.

"Vaguely."

"You're charming." Roger sneered. "Surprising you're not working your magic on Alison on Christmas Eve instead of driving two hopeless slobs below the poverty line."

"One of the many perks I receive. Rent is due, boys. Pay it…or pack."

"Benny-" No response.

"Damn him!" Roger yelped, kicking the coffee table.

"An old landlord?" I questioned.

"The worst." Roger bit his lip spitefully.

"Believe it or not, that guy was our best friend." Mark remarked as he reached for his camera to film a little more.

"Times _are_ a'changin' then, aren't they?" I said to no one in particular.

I watched Mark look to Roger slowly. That same gaze. "Yeah. They really are."

And just then, the loft went dark.

"Perfect." Roger grunted.

"The power blows." Mark narrated.

"Dammit Mark, put the camera down and help me find some matches." I suddenly felt Mark pulling my hands out of my pockets and placing his camera in them. I think he smiled just then, but there was no light to verify it.

"Top drawer next to the sink." I heard Roger open that drawer, and Mark disappeared down the hallway.

"Where is he going?" I asked Roger.

"Fuel." He responded.

Mark returned with a bunch of manila folders and stapled packets of paper overflowing in his hands. I went to him and grabbed a few folders from the top of the stack and he breathed a 'thank you' as he stumbled to find the coffee table. He dropped them at once.

He exhaled deeply and looked to me. "Screenplays."

"They any good?" I asked Mark as I sat on the couch with one of the stapled packets in my lap.

"If they were, would I be burning them?"

"Good point." I smiled up at him.

"Mark, here." Roger tossed him a bunch of matches. Mark threw a couple of his screenplays down into the stove and threw in the match.

"How can you do that?" I wondered aloud.

"What?" Mark threw in another huge stapled screenplay down.

"Part with something that took so much of yourself to create?"

"It's not who I am anymore." He said solemnly and continued to throw a few more. I heard a huge rip. I whirled around to see Roger clawing at the wall.

"And what is that? Artwork you're not too proud of?"

"Hardly." He smiled sarcastically. "Posters."

"The Well-Hungarians, eh?" I stood up and waltzed over to him.

"How did you know?" He didn't turn to glare at me this time. Maybe they were getting used to eeriness of how much I knew about them.

"I saw the posters when I came in."

"Yeah well, I don't need them anymore." He ripped down another. He tilted his head to another one on the far wall, meaning for me to tear it down. I did as asked.

"You don't play anymore?" I queried as I headed toward the other wall.

"Not enough." He supplied. I ran my hand over the smooth poster. The edges were crumbling, but the center was perfectly intact. There was a glorious picture of Roger with his arm outstretched above his head, hand clenched into a fist, guitar slung over his shoulder and his head down. I could make out his eyes in the picture, and that's when I saw everything that Roger had lost.

"How long has it been?" I asked without looking back at him.

"Too long." Roger hurried over to me and ripped the poster from beneath my hands. He glared at me hard and crumbled them into balls before throwing them into the flames.

I stood besides Mark and watched him glare down into the fire. Roger stood opposite us and I looked at their faces and couldn't help but feel a wave of happiness wash over me. Here I stood, now being enveloped in two lives I had known so well and has wished to be part of for so long.

"Was he good, Mark?" I whispered.

"The best." He sighed. I picked up one of his screenplays still on the coffee table. I got through a few sentences on top before Mark grabbed it from me. He spitefully threw it into the flames.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to…"

"I could never write scripts. It's too difficult to capture what life is with words. There aren't enough."

There weren't enough words then for me to respond. So I stood in silence with these two boys and suddenly realized that I had no desire to ever go home. This felt more like home to me.

The phone rang.

"Screen." Roger mumbled, still watching the flames eat at his past.

"Nah, Rog. Maybe it's Collins. I wonder what happened to him." Mark flashed a smile at me before going to answer the phone.

"Hello…Maureen?" I perked up suddenly. Roger took this for confusion.

"His ex-girlfriend."

"How long ago did they break up?"

"A month. And she dumped him."

"He take it bad?" I stepped closer to Roger.

"Yeah. It killed him. But, he didn't show it." I followed Roger's eyes as he stared pained at Mark crumbling at the sound of her voice. "He never shows it."

Roger stuck out his arm to lead me to the couch and he took a seat beside me. The loft felt a lot warmer with the fire raging. Roger crossed his feet on the coffee table and knocked over a few stacks of screenplays. He threw them to the flames.

"Your equipment? ... How long? ... Maureen, isn't there- … Okay. Alright. I'll go." Mark hung up the phone heavily and took a long breath with tightly shut eyes. He paced over to us.

"I have to go help Maureen."

"You know, normally when someone crushes you Mark, you don't go running off to help them." Roger sneered.

"Thank you, Roger. But there's no one else who can do it."

"Heh. I bet her new girlfriend will be there waiting for you." Roger kicked the last of Mark's screenplays on the floor. Instinctively, Mark hurried to them.

"Roger." He groaned annoyed. He looked to me as he arranged the papers.

"So your girlfriend's a lesbian?" I said before he could explain anything. He let out a nervous chuckle.

"So it seems." He remarked standing up now.

"C'est la vie." I heard myself spit out. Immediately, I caught myself and looked away.

"You sound like my mother." Mark rolled his eyes. He held the pile of screenplays in his arms and looked down at them frowning. Then, he tossed them all into the fire that was now dwindling. I saw one just miss the stove and waft to the floor.

"Any way I can convince you to come out tonight, Roger?" Mark dug his hands into his pockets.

"Zoom in on my empty wallet." Roger mocked Mark's narration.

"Touch'e." The words couldn't have felt more new. "Take your AZT." Mark reached for his camera but Roger kicked his hand away.

"Don't touch it." He sneered. Mark backed away.

"Mia, would you wanna take a little detour with me? I wouldn't want to spend any more time if I were you in this god-forsaken place."

I looked to Roger who was staring at his guitar still on the chair. Then his eyes met the window. It was Christmas Eve. Roger would be alone. I was going to change that.

"No Mark, I'll stay with Roger if that's okay."

"Sure. He could use some company." Mark picked up his camera and placed it in a bag he slung over his shoulder.

"I'll be back. The fire's going to go down soon. Make sure to keep warm, okay?" He motioned for me to come over to him.

"I know this is not something you should have to worry about but, uh…make sure he takes his AZT, okay? There's a bag on the counter."

"Don't worry. He will. I'll make sure of it." I assured him. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you." He said earnestly. I started to the couch when my eyes caught the screenplay still on the floor. Mark went to the stove, and before he could see it I picked it up and held it behind my back. He stayed glaring into the dwindling flames for a few minutes, a painful silence swallowing the loft. Finally, he looked up at Roger.

"How we gunna pay?"

**Author's Note:** So, I'm very happy with how this chapter came out. I'd like to hear what you all think. Thank you again!


	3. Truth Like a Blazing Fire

**Author's Note: **Hi again. Back with the third chapter. I'm writing a lot lately, especially since I'm actually writing a manuscript and I kinda reached a roadblock, so it opens up plenty of time for this for amusement Part of this is for _Rent is my anti drug_, who wanted more information about Mia. I hope a little snippet of her real life in this chapter will keep you reading. smiles Alsoooo, I apologize for one of the songs in this chapter taking place where it does in the movie, and not in the show. It was just better to work with, so forgive me. Anyway, more reviews are always hoped for. This story is definitely going somewhere. And somewhere good. Thank you all !

"What was she like?" Roger whipped his head to meet my eyes; my voice had startled his silence. I was a breech of his peace, his air, his thoughts. But I needed to be, especially with how toxic I knew those thoughts were.

"How was who like?"

"Her. The girl you're waiting for." His eyes met the window again, as they had been every moment since Mark left the loft. He didn't answer. I felt him melting right there beside me and spilling out the window, onto the fire-escape. Escaping.

"What gives it away?" He broke the silence, after minutes of anticipation.

"Your eyes. How alive they are in your posters, and how dead they are now."

"But _I'm_ alive." He groaned. As if it pained him to know it was true.

I leaned into him and put my hand on his leg. "But by how much?"

He jerked away. He always jerked away. "She killed me."

"How?"

"When she killed herself." He never turned to look at me, always spoke right to the window, to the sky, to the stars, to the past he had to leave behind.

"What did she kill?" I tried to follow his eyes, to meet him half-way.

"What I was." I could tell Roger never spoke like this. I suddenly wished Mark was there. I wanted to hold onto this moment as long as I could before he realized what he was saying. And who he was saying it to.

"Roger, what were you?"

"I was… different. Reckless. Unafraid. Daring. And happy. But then I lost her, and I lost all of that, too."

"Then what are you now?" His silence was even greater this time. I held my breath, waiting for a response, hoping I hadn't pushed too far.

"You must know, Mia. Mia Cordon. The girl who knows everything." He chuckled lightly.

"I don't know anything." I mumbled beneath my breath. He finally turned on the couch to look at me.

"Yes you do. You know Mark and I, somehow. From a different time or place, maybe. But you know much more then you should."

"Who's the judge of that?" I asked him.

"We'll kill you. I'll kill you. I killed Mark, and April killed me."

Her name. _April_. From his lips, she sounded like an angel.

"Awful lot of death isn't there?" My questions were punctuated by long silences, till Roger knew what he had to say.

"It's inevitable."

"Maybe. But what about birth? …Or rebirth?"

He sat watching me for a long time, trying to read an answer in my face that I didn't know was there.

"Rebirth? Of who?"

"You, Roger. April died, but you're alive."

He interrupted. "But as you said, by how much?"

"Then live harder. Better. Life's a gift, Roger. Especially when you're so close to its end."

He looked angered, like I had just stabbed him in his chest.

"…I'll take my AZT." He mumbled, looking to the window again. And I knew he would.

I grabbed his hand and cupped it in mine, giving up my warmth for him.

"You're about to live again, Roger. I can feel it."

He looked down at my hand wrapped tightly around his. For once, he didn't jerk away.

"I hope so." He finally let go and stood up, grabbing his guitar off the chair and starting to the fire escape. Passing the counter, he stopped. He looked back at me once more on the couch, exhaled and groped his bag of AZT. He slipped it into his back pocket and disappeared out onto the fire escape, where whatever he had been waiting for seemed to be waiting for him. I wondered if he found out. I would always wonder if Roger found it.

The loft was painfully silent. It's funny, the amount of things you can imagine about one particular place, but you never think of what it's like empty. I leaned back on the couch and fingered a bursting stitch. I closed my eyes and disappeared, and felt more at home in this silence in this loft then I did anywhere. It gave me a moment to think, think back on the events that had happened in just the last hour. My stomach jumped into my throat. It was so unbelievable to think I had dissolved from my old world into this one. And I started wondering just then. Wondering what was going on back at home. If maybe this meant I never existed at all, if maybe this was like some kind of strange fictional movie in which if I ever got back home, they wouldn't even know my name…except for all this was real.

_How do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?_

An hour ago, I was racking my brain on how I got here, and how I'd get home. But now, I could care less. Maybe tomorrow I'd wake up and be home. Maybe I'd wake up here again. And maybe, in a month, that will pain me. But right now, it was what I was praying for.

I remembered my brother then. The one who I had told my parents I was going to see for Christmas that day. But I knew I would be making a pit stop first. I remembered he was the first one to take me to see RENT. I remembered that picture that was framed on my nightstand at home, the one where my brother had to ask a passerby to try to use his decade-old camera to get a shot of us standing there in front of the theatre after the show let out, the bright lights shining behind us. I remembered how he had whispered in my ear, "Imagine you're with them right now." And that was the one thing that made me smile brighter then the lights behind us. I remembered his face, how glowing it was in that picture with his dark hair and fire-engine-red t-shirt, and I remembered his face now. He didn't glow much anymore. Believe it or not, I even remembered that camera which was tucked away in his attic for over a year now. The last thing I remembered was slipping that picture into my pocket before I left that morning. I rubbed it through my jeans, not ready to take it out. All those memories reminded me of why these people meant so much to me. Maybe the reason I'd wanted to be part of their lives so desperately was because of how much they were now mirroring my own. "Imagine you're with them right now," my brother had said.

I _was_ with them. And I was staying.

My thoughts were interrupted by notes floating down from the fire escape. I slowly got up from the couch and padded across the loft. I leant out the Peter Pan-window and the music became louder. Out to the fire escape I climbed and I slowly treaded up the stairs to the roof. I peaked around some clutter to see Roger standing towards the edge of the roof with his guitar in his hand, screaming out to the night. He played chords as he sang, his voice raw and bittersweet, so much more then I could ever imagine. I kneeled at the top of the stairs, just enough to still be concealed but able to watch him. The notes filled me up and I found my eyes closing as his voice trickled like a leaking faucet.

_Find_

_Glory_

_In a song that rings true,_

_Truth like a blazing fire_

_An eternal flame_

Words I had heard a million times, but never in my life had they become as alive as they were now. I felt them, each hitting me like a tidal wave and ripping at my insides, so grim and bleak, but perfect. I smiled, despite the mood. Because these words were telling a story. And I knew the ending.

_Find_

_One Song_

_A song about love_

_Glory_

_From the soul of a young man_

_A young man_

_Find the one song_

_Before the virus takes hold_

Roger turned out so his back was more to me, and I eyed the AZT still in his back pocket. I grabbed at both of my arms as a chill ran through me. It was either the thought that Roger was dying, or that it was below freezing and my heavy brown coat was still in Benny's room. I couldn't bare the wind any longer, so I hurried back down to the fire escape before Roger's song ended.

Back in the loft, I realized the thought of Roger dying had hit me on the roof as well as the wind. Just then, fear gripped me. In the life I had left behind, I was dealing with an inevitable death. And now, in this world of escape, it was chasing me too. My head clanged, and I realized everything I had wanted to run away from, I was running to. _I need to get out this door,_ I thought.

Just then, a new idea hit me. Maybe I was here on a mission. Maybe that was what I was meant to do, to touch Roger and give him a reason to keep living. Maybe I'd already done that. Maybe I was free. For some reason in that moment, I felt chained to that loft. I needed to leave. I was never one to stay tied down to anything, and that overwhelming need to run just ran through me. And I couldn't control it. I hurried to the door and ripped it open. But standing in front of me was not an escape from my escape, but a reminder I couldn't go anywhere.

The first thing I noticed were her eyes. How brown they were, and full. I didn't know of what, but they were overflowing with something. Empowerment, maybe. But what brought it to her? There were almost no pupils in her eyes, but a thin ring of white. Hope. The rest was a familiar brown but on her, it seemed as if I'd never seen the color before.

The next thing I noticed was that Roger's music had stopped.

Her hand was in a fist, ready to knock on the door. But since I opened it, she dropped her arm. I saw a candle laced in her fingers. I saw a smile twitching at her lips, and then I felt the silence.

"Hi." I said, to break the moment.

"Hello, I'm sorry I didn't realize –" Then she stopped and looked at my face quizzically. "What? Do I remind you of someone?"

She stepped past me gracefully, like a gazelle, into the loft. "You could say that." I muttered, shutting the heavy door.

"I always remind people of –" She stopped again. Steps on the fire escape.

"What'd you forget?" Roger was just slipping back into the loft. He jerked back, realizing who had just come into the loft was most certainly not Mark. The first time his eyes hit her; I was watching it.

"Got a light?"

"I know you – Mia, do you know her?" _That was a new one_, I thought. "You're shivering." He continued.

I knew this was the moment I was supposed to slip away. I walked past Roger, who looked from this girl for only one quick second to watch me leave, but then hungrily turned back to the mysterious creature. Only mysterious to him, though. I was silent as I slipped into Benny's room and turned on the light and allowed fate to take its course. There were certain things I knew I needed to get involved in while I was here, and certain things I knew I needed to stay out of. I hoped I'd know how to tread the line.

I flopped on my back on Benny's bed. That was when I finally took my brother's picture out of my pocket. There was a single crease down the center, but it was right between us, not on his face. I looked at it hard and saw how the crease divided us as his disease was in real life. But, the picture was still a whole and you could still make out the two people and what they were, no matter how disconnected they were becoming. They would always remain in the picture, no matter what happened to it.

That was the difference between pictures and real life.

I turned to the nightstand beside the bed. There was a photograph there of Benny, Mark, Roger and Collins. Guess Benny didn't need to remember them once he moved out. I looked at their faces. Benny stood on the outside, slightly more removed then the other three. Collins was besides Benny, towering above them, sheltering Mark and Roger on his left. And next to the right was Roger, who was in the center. The other boys huddling around him, protecting him, guarding him. Roger would always be in the center. As much as Roger believed he didn't need to be watched out for, he always did and would. And last was Mark, scrawny with his crooked glasses, close to Roger as always. Mark looked like he needed the protecting. But yet, he found a way to fend for himself. I was going to protect Mark, I heard myself think. Because someone had to, and no one would.

I slipped the photograph out of the frame and held it in my hands. I ran my finger across their faces, and placed the picture gingerly on the bed. Then, I slid the picture of my brother and I into the frame and stood it upright to watch us smile painlessly.

_I am home._

I was going to fold the Mark, Roger, Collins, and Benny picture to put it in my pocket but quickly decided against it. This picture didn't need to be creased. I reached across the bed for the overnight bag I had with me and slipped it in. Maybe Benny didn't need it, but I did. And I would never be able to leave without it.

Then, I laid back against the bed without any thought or care. It felt as if everything was taken care of, like I no longer needed to worry. It wasn't true, and never would be, but for some reason I felt as if whatever was lying ahead for me here would happen as it did, and take care of itself. Was this my new home? Were these people my new family? Maybe it always had been, and they always were.

I heard Roger's voice coming from the other room and shut my eyes to listen to its familiar sound, how it rose and fell. Yes, this most definitely was home.

And as Mimi said her last words before she left, I couldn't help but tell Roger myself in my head.

_They call her, they call her Mimi._

**Author's Note:** Anddddddddd, what do we think? I particularly enjoyed this chapter. Got a lot more of Mia's emotions in it, and some Roger drama. I hope you're all excited for chapter four. So review for itttt ! Thank you for reading this, I truly appreciate it. See you soon


	4. A Detour to Make

**Author's Note:** Back with Chapter four, guys! Thank you for the reviews, all. It means so much. Keep it up, eh? I'd still like to hear more from you. As for this chapter, Collins and Angel make their debut!! But to make things easier, I'm referring to Angel as a 'she'. I don't know if anyone thinks that's incorrect but, figured I'd give you a heads up.

As soon as Mimi left, the loft succumbed to that awful silence again. I slipped off my boots for the first time since I got there and eased down the hallway, the scuffed wood floor icing my feet. I found Roger standing a few feet from the door with a palm against his forehead, his eyes shut. He inhaled and exhaled, and I remained silent for a few moments with my neck craned to watch him breathe. Every time he let out air, I found myself praying he'd take it in again. God only knows how long it would be until he stopped.

"Come out." He groaned. I gasped in disbelief and then treaded to him as asked.

"You heard?" He asked.

"Every word."

He collapsed onto the couch, his head in a cushion. I spun on my heels to watch him fall and he sighed deeply.

"You know Roger, not everything that happens to you has to be depressing."

"Don't be so sure." He grumbled.

A few moments passed and I saw Roger's AZT bottle was now thrown onto the metal table. I opened it slowly, knocked out a pill and grabbed a dirty mug to fill with water from the kitchen sink. Roger was still hiding beneath pillows, so I kneeled on the floor in front of him with the pill in my outstretched hand. He heaved and sat up, threw the pill to the back of his throat and gulped hesitantly from the mug. He set it down on the coffee table and I sat back with my fingers laced around my bent knees. He ran his fingers through his mangy blonde hair.

"So, what does this mean?" He finally spoke.

"What does what mean?" I asked.

"This. Her. Me."

"Well…what do you want it to mean?" I started slowly. He closed his eyes while thinking.

"Nothing. I don't want it to mean anything."

"Then why would you ask?"

He didn't answer.

"Roger."

"What? It doesn't mean anything." He stood up quickly and paced towards the window.

"Then why are there three unused matches in your pocket?"

He didn't answer that either. He put two fingers against the window pane and stared out at the night.

"Her eyes. They were…they must have been April's eyes. I didn't want to see them in the light."

"Mimi's going to come back."

"Not if I can help it." And then he stormed off the other direction.

"Roger if not her, it will be someone else. Just because April's gone doesn't mean your world stops."

"But it does, Mia! It does! How would you know? You have no idea what this is. This…merciless agony day-in, day-out. This…torture that is _so_ much worse then death. You don't know, Mia. You don't know." He turned away from me fast and bit his lip so hard, it could have bled. I didn't think he'd want to speak again. But once again, Roger Davis surprised me.

"I wish it was me, you know? I wish it was me." I could hear his tears. I didn't ask him to turn around.

"Where does she get off? How come she got to die? She couldn't live with it, huh? Well, I'm living with it! I'm here, April! I'm still alive! …But I wish I wasn't. She got the easy way out. I wish I followed her." I was positive there were tears escaping now. I put my hand on his shoulder and he winced at first, but let it be.

"You're still alive, Roger. And there's still…time." I stumbled.

"Time?" He choked on a half-laugh. "Time for what?"

"Life."

"But I don't want it! I don't deserve it! I go through this misery every fucking day, and…and I ruin people. Collins – why do you think he's always away teaching? And Mark, god Mark, I'm so sorry for Mark. They have time, Mia. Not me. I just take it away."

There was a long silence before I could answer him.

"Pain fades, Roger. Nothing in the world lasts forever."

"Except death." He stifled.

"Did you expect it to be easy? To wake up one morning and know you can move on?" In complete frustration, he whipped around and lashed out at me.

"No! I didn't expect anything! I didn't expect to get sick, or for her to kill herself, or to have to even face this at all. What in life _do_ we expect? What do we actually prepare for? We _don't_. Things hit us like a bus and there's no way to know which direction it's coming from, or when it'll turn around and hit us again. I live in fear, Mia. I live under the weight of this torment and as it keeps pushing down on me, I keep waiting for it to either be lifted off of me or just snap me in two. And in all honesty, I've lost hope for the first one."

I looked to the floor quickly as he threw his head back and clutched his chest. He put his palm against his forehead and continued:

"You say I have time, Mia. But I'm afraid of time. Because for me, that's the difference between life and death."

And then he looked at me, my eyes brimming with tears, my mouth trying to formulate words as I glared right at him.

"What?" He wondered.

"…No day but today."

The loft door heaved open.

"Dammit, I hate this city." Mark threw his camera on the table and unwound his scarf and hung it angrily. Then his eyes hit mine and I turned away fast, coughing and wiping my eyes. He looked to Roger who grabbed his guitar and then headed to the window.

"Okay, what happened here?"

Mark's eyes darted back and forth from me to Roger and when neither of us answered, he walked over to me.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing."

"You don't seem like one to cry over nothing."

"Neither does Roger."

"What does that mean?" Mark asked me.

I looked at him for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him what just had happened since he left.

"He'll tell you later tonight."

I started over to the window where Roger was sitting.

"I wouldn't be so sure with him."

"Trust me, Mark." And I think he did.

I sat down beside Roger and he didn't acknowledge me. We both just stared out the window at the pulsing city, loud and thriving while wishing we could be the same ourselves. Maybe that we were thinking the same thing made up for us not saying a word. Maybe that was louder.

The loft dipped into that silence again. No wonder Mark was always fleeing when he got the chance. But just as I thought every emotion in the room was dead, the loft door once again slid open that night.

"Merry Christmas bitches!" A holler.

"Collins!" Mark yelped. He wrenched his camera off the table and started filming.

He narrated:

"Enter Tom Collins, computer genius, teacher, vagabond anarchist, who ran naked through the Parthenon." Roger and I both choked on a giggle.

Collins flipped Mark off. "Dammit boy, put this stuff down for me, eh?"

Mark reached into Collins arms and set a bottle of liquor, a pack of cigarettes, a bunch of bananas, a box of Captain Crunch and firewood onto the metal table.

"Look – it's Santa Clause!"

"Hold your applause." Collins threw a glance at Roger. He was now turning to face him.

"Oh hi." He mumbled.

"Oh hi, after seven months?" Collins threw out his arms and Roger sluggishly got up from his seat at the window.

"Sorry."

"This boy could use some stoli!"

"So you struck gold at MIT, huh?" Roger asked as Collins poured him a cup.

"Expelled."

"What!" Some of Mark's liquor split out of the paper cup.

"My theory of actual reality, you know. But I'm off to NYU soon. Still haven't left the house Roger my boy?"

"I was waiting for you, don't you know." Roger cracked a smile. Collins shouldered him and Roger stumbled. Collins was gigantic; I watched in awe still by the window.

"Well tonight's the night. Maureen is performing. We're all meeting at the Life Café afterwards. It's supposed to –" Collins stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes hit me. Immediately, I looked down in my lap and felt my face blush.

"Well, what have we here?" He asked.

"Oh!" Mark took a swig of his drink and then set it down to come over to me. He grabbed my hand and helped me stand up.

"This is Mia Cordon." He introduced.

"Mia Cordon, huh? How'd you find yourself here, Miss Mia?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

He laughed. "I like this one. Don't lose her, Roger."

"Not mine, Collins."

"Mark?" He looked appalled.

Mark sighed. "No."

"I don't belong to anyone yet." I smiled.

"If you don't, you ought-to." He joked. He waved me over and shook my hand. His hands were warm and big, and I could barely see my fingers in his grasp.

"Pleased to meet you, Mia Cordon."

"The pleasure is all mine." I curtsied a bit and he threw his head back to laugh.

"Friends call me Collins. Tom Collins."

"So I've heard." He let my hand go and the room suddenly felt colder.

"How long you been staying here, Mia?"

"I've only been here a few hours."

"Oh lord! These boys don't waste a second, huh?" I burst into a fit of laughter, Roger snorted and Mark punched Collins' shoulder.

"But seriously. You shackin' up in Benny's old room?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Mark and Roger were generous enough to let me stay the night."

"Why just the night? Don't ever leave! Seems like these boys could use you around to keep their heads leveled, ay Marky?" He ruffled Mark's blonde hair.

"Yes, nice to have you home, Collins." Mark retorted.

"It's good to be home. And good to have someone new to come home to." We smiled graciously at each other. "Which reminds me…" He swigged his drink and then put it on the coffee table. Collins shooed us to sit down, so Roger sat on his chair and Mark and I flopped onto the worn couch.

"_Ladies_ and gentlemen, our benefactor on this Christmas Eve, whose charity is only matched by talent – I believe. A new member of the alphabet city's Avant-Garde, Angel Dumott Schunard!"

Collins heaved open the loft door again and in pranced a pair of patent-leather heels and zebra tights. My heart leapt into my throat and I had to swallow my breath to keep from screaming. As she spoke, I replayed the words I'd heard a thousand times in my ears:

_Today for you – _

_Tomorrow for me_

Angel leaped onto the coffee table.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me!" She threw hundred dollar bills at us three.

"And you should hear her beat!"

Mark and I spit out in unison, "You earned this on the street?"

And then she told a story I already knew the ending to. So for the first time I was listening to this tale, I just sat back and felt the purest form of belonging I'd ever felt. Mark, Roger, Angel, Collins…and me. There were very few moments of my life that I knew were perfect. This would be one of them.

"We agreed on a fee, a thousand dollar guarantee –"

I felt myself shout out, "Tax-free?!" A smile exploded on her face and she nodded vigorously.

"And a bonus, if I trimmed her tree!" She used her drumsticks to chop Roger's hair. He batted her away but his laughter told a different story. Angel's weightlessness struck me, because she had always appeared so grounded and level-headed. But her leaps and bounds across the room were effortless, and she seemed so lithe and free and alive. I envied Angel for the first time in my life in that second. How I envied her ability to truly be alive.

"After an hour, Evita, in all her glory –"

Angel grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the metal table with her as she danced.

"- Like Thelma and Louise did when they got the blues, swan dove into the courtyard of the Gracie Mews!" She jumped off the coffee table and left me dancing on it. She grabbed both of my forearms and we twirled beneath each others' arms. She started a drum solo on the coffee table, furiously banging her drumsticks. She threw them to me and I started playing myself, which allowed her to prance around the room and throw herself onto Mark, who jumped awkwardly. She finished too quick and was standing there in her final pose. There were noises of appreciation from the three boys and I caught my breath to scream for her.

"Isn't she fabulous?" Collins bellowed.

Angel curtsied a bit and then sat on the couch besides Collins. I took a seat at the edge of the coffee table, facing all four of them at once. Their eyes on me was almost too much to take.

"Angel, this is Mark and Roger, my boys. And this is Mia, who fell from the sky."

Angel smiled fondly.

"I crushed the wicked witch of the east when I fell, too."

"Nah, Roger's right there." Collins threw a pillow across to hit him.

"Thank you, Thomas." He grumbled.

"Collins didn't mention you." Angel turned back to me.

"She's a recent development." Mark added.

I smiled at him graciously and he blushed a bit.

"So am I." She winked at me and reached across to pat my hand. Collins stood up to pour himself another glass. I saw him filling two other paper cups and I stared puzzled until he returned to the couch holding them out to Angel and I.

"Collins, what had happened to you?" Mark finally asked what we'd all been wondering.

"Mugged." He said carelessly and paused to take a swig from his cup.

"What'd they get?" Roger asked.

"Nothing. I _had_ nothing. 'Cept my coat." He pulled his shoulder in and rubbed his arm furiously which reminded us all of the bitter cold.

"Seriously guys, this is insane. We need a fucking heater."

"We need fucking cash." Roger returned.

"Ain't it the truth?" Collins held up his glass in a form of toasting.

We all returned the gesture.

He smiled contentedly as we all took a sip at once. That was the first silence of the loft that night that felt like it was meant to be there.

It soon ended. There was pounding on the loft door.

Collins shot a glance at Mark. "Who are you guys expecting?"

"No one." Mark answered, bewildered. His voice trailed off as he got up towards the door.

"Benny." Mark spat distastefully as a tall, dark man strolled into the loft. We all whipped our heads towards the door and I took in yet another character that I had really known for years but was now meeting for the first time. Benny raised a hand to his head to remove his dark sunglasses and lodged them into his neon windbreaker. His head was shaven clean and his chin was held high. Despite his stern look and cold eyes, I could see his face was smooth, his features soft. Yet not as soft as they were in the picture that was now in my overnight bag.

"Well, well, well. A little get-together, I see?" He said flightily.

"And it's just like you to show up without an invite, Benjamin." Roger sneered.

"Collins, home from MIT?"

"Home, sweet, home." Collins muttered hesitantly as he sat on the arm of the couch with his legs wide and his palms resting on his thighs. His glare was intense and Benny looked away before Collins burned his retinas.

"Roger, you seem to be doing well."

"Just peachy." He groaned through clenched teeth.

"Oh, there's more to the pack, I see."

"Mia." I offered, unsure of what emotion to portray so I chose to show none.

"Pleasure." He took my hand in his and nodded slightly before releasing it.

His eyes wandered to Angel who was grinding her teeth. She did not bother to introduce herself.

"Boys, I'm here to collect." He paced around the back of the couch, nose to the ceiling.

"…Souls?" Roger asked.

Benny rolled his eyes. "The rent." He persisted. His eyes suddenly strayed out the window, and in a flash he was hurrying to the fire escape. I craned my neck around Angel to see Benny leaning over the railing.

"Hey, you bum!" He shouted. "Yeah, you, move over. Get your ass off that Range Rover."

"That attitude is exactly what Maureen is protesting tonight." Mark quipped and in a flash his camera was glued to his face.

"Close up: Benjamin Coffin the third. Our ex-roomate, who married Alison Grey of the Westport Greys-" Mark continued his familiar narration. "Then bought the building, in hopes of starting a cyber-studio."

Benny humored Mark and spat his next few words at the camera's lens, "Maureen is protesting losing her performance space, not my attitude."

He shoved a hand in front of Mark and ripped the camera from his eye. Roger stood abruptly.

"Benny man, what happened to you?"

Benny, hand still on the lens, jerked his neck to see Roger, who dug his fists into his green fleece.

"The owner of that lot next door, Mr. Davis, has a right to do with it as he pleases."

"Happy Birthday, Jesus." Collins mumbled sarcastically before slurping from his liquor.

"I don't have time for this," he said frustrated. He released Mark's camera, which Mark was now holding in his hands, and strode over towards Roger.

"The rent." He again, persisted.

"You're wasting your time, Benny."

"You know we're broke."

"And you broke your word."

"There is one way you won't have to pay..." Benny offered slyly, a mischievous glimmer in his dark eyes.

"I knew it." Roger looked down and let out a grunt as he fell back into his chair.

"Next door is the home of Cyberarts. Everything you boys dreamed could be yours. You'll see…"

"Enlighten us." Collins moaned, looking Benny in the eyes.

"It's a state of the art studio. I'll let the rent slide, and you can stay here free of charge-"

"Too easy." Roger interrupted.

"- if you do me one small favor…" Benny continued.

"What?" Mark asked helplessly.

"Convince Maureen to cancel her protest." Benny stated simply.

"Benny! Come on, man." Collins groaned.

"Why don't you just call the cops?" Mark offered, irritated.

"I did. They're on standby. But uh," he stammered, "my investors would rather this be handled quietly." He breathed.

"You can't wipe out a tent city quietly, Benny." Roger threw up his arms.

"You want to produce films and write songs?" Benny raised his voice and pointed right at the boys. "You need somewhere to do it. This is what we used to dream about, so don't cast it off so quickly." He continued.

"You'll see boys… you'll see boys…" He looked around for a second and rubbed his chin, trying to find a way of convincing them. Then he came to life and sat on the coffee table beside me.

"You'll see the beauty of a studio that lets us do our work and get paid. Just stop the protest boys, and you'll have it made. You'll see." He said, his hands gliding in the air to enhance the illusion.

"And if we don't?" Roger stood again, challenging him. Benny got to his feet.

"You'll pack." He cleared his throat and started towards the door.

"Merry Christmas." He punctuated his exit.

"He could use some Prozac!" Angel exclaimed.

Roger let out a harsh breath. "How about heavy drugs?"

"Or group hugs." Mark added, coming back around to the couch to sit beside Angel.

"That reminds me." Collins put down his cup and stood. "We have a detour to make tonight."

"A detour?" Mark stammered.

"Anyone who wants to can come along." Collins shot a burning glance in Roger's direction. He locked eyes with him and shrugged it off.

"It's a group called Life Support." Angel tried to extinguish the flames shooting from Collins' eyes. "They help people cope. We won't be there too long."

"Mark?" I looked to him.

"Defenitly. But first, Maureen needs me."

"Duty calls!" Collins mocked.

"Roger?"

"I'm not much company you'll find." He scoffed.

"Hey, watch it man." Collins warned. He put a hand on Roger's shoulder and Roger ripped his shoulder from underneath it. Collins stepped back and breathed heavily.

"When are you gunna let us in, man? How long will it take?" Roger's eyes stayed glued to the floor.

"Mia? What do you say?" Angel attempted slowly.

I looked to Mark immediately, and he was staring right back at me. There was a plea in his eyes, to go with him, to help him face what he had been stuffing down for so long: that Maureen no longer needed him, but he so desperately needed her.

And besides, I really freaking wanted to see Joanne.

"I'd love to. But, I think I'll go help Mark out first…if that's okay."

"No sure. Yes. Better than okay!" Mark sputtered surprised.

"Lord knows he needs it." Collins bellowed.

Mark grabbed his camera bag off the metal table and buried his camera within it. He grabbed my arm before I could change my mind. "Let's go."

"My coat's in Benny's room."

"No. Your room." Collins said earnestly.

"My room." I repeated slowly looking through him, to make sure the words were real. And they were. But I still had trouble believing it.

"I'll be right back." I headed down the hallway to Benny's – no, my room – and their voices drained out from behind me. I shrugged on my jacket and sat on the bed and just listened to them speak in the other room, to see what things they said without me, how they lived together without me. I listened –

"Roger. Come on man, this could be good for you."

"Collins." Mark warned.

"No, Mark. Seriously. You're letting him wallow too long. Get your ass up and come."

"Collins." Mark tried more firmly.

Roger wasn't speaking.

"Dammit, Roger!"

"Collins!" Mark yelped.

"God, shut the fuck up! Both of you!" Roger's booming voice. He had finally exploded since I got here.

"Why are you fighting over me? What am I, a child? Is that what I am? A child you need to take care of? Dammit, guys. I'm a fucking adult, and I can handle myself. And I do not, _do not_ take orders, alright? If I want to go somewhere, I go. I want to do something, I do it. That's how I got where I am, right? That's exactly how I got here." He was half-laughing now. "That's how I got to this fucking miserable life. Because I did what I wanted. And you know what? That's the only way I'm gunna get out of it." He paused for a moment and all I heard was their breathing. Every breath weighed me down. I got up and slowly inched into the hallway, unheard.

"And Collins." Roger continued. "Who are you?"

"What?" Collins breathed, caught off-guard.

"Who ARE you to come in here after seven months and tell me where to go and who to let in? Who are you to do that, man? Man, buddy, boy…" He imitated Collins booming voice and terms of affection. "Mark has been dealing with me. Mark. For seven months, I was Mark's problem. Cause that's what I am to you guys. A burden. Well you know what? I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be this. But I am. I fucking am and I will be and the two of you walking around telling me what to do won't change that. **_I_** have to change that." His voice got soft. He slowly picked it up where he dropped it.

"Guys, you want me to change. You want me to get better. I know, okay? I know. But I need a reason. Because right now, I'm really not seeing one. If I stay this person I am…I'm going to die. But even if I change, I'm gunna die anyway. So, why bother? You want to help me, Collins? Mark? Mia?" He walked to the center of the room to glare at me down the dark hall. His eyes burned my skin. I stepped from the shadows and with my head down paced towards him.

"You all want me to live? Give me a reason to." He swallowed the lump in his throat, the lump of all his fears and doubts and swallowed it down to hide it, to make it disappear. But it was still growing within him. It was still there, even if Roger chose to conceal it. It was glaringly obvious; it was shining through his chest. He ripped his leather jacket off the hook besides the door and scurried out onto the fire escape. I looked to Angel and just then realized she had not once peeled her eyes from him the entire time. Roger's outbursts could break Collins and Mark, but Angel…they'd never break her. Roger couldn't feel enough to throw her.

I wished then that I was Angel.

"Mark. Let's go." I said softly. He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples and there was a long moment where I just watched him and hoped he'd find the strength to come with me. But then he looked up and nodded and grabbed his camera bag. I knew Mark would always find some sort of strength. I didn't know how or where it came from, but he could always find it. He could always keep going.

"Welcome home." Mark choked out as he wound his scarf around his neck.

"Home, sweet, home." Collins sighed. He intertwined his fingers with Angel's.

"Will he be alright?" Angel asked hesitantly.

Collins glared up at Mark, who looked to me.

I answered for all of us. "We'll see."

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**Author's Note**: Chapter four is completeeeeee. Thanks for all your support, and please continue to read. I SWARE this is going to be good. We'll get past this first night, eh? Read and review!


	5. Only Goal is Just to Be

**Author's Note:** EEK IT'S CHAPTER FIVE! I know you're all so deathly excited for this oneeeeee. This is actually going to be a pretty long update, so enjoy it.Alright, begs for reviews as always. Reviews make me happy. And make me write faster.

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Mark's eyes were on me. I could feel them with each step we took. Despite the whipping winter wind tearing at me from the inside out, despite the aching of my bones from pacing this city earlier trying to find anywhere to be besides where I was _supposed _to be, despite my racing mind which kept falling on Roger and his words that were still exploding like rockets in my head, I could only feel Mark's eyes on me. They were burning me; my skin was sizzling. _He can see through me,_ I thought. _He can see everything I've never said, and every thought I never developed. He can hear what's inside me. He can see my scars. _My entire being was on fire, just like the flames that ate the shadows of the loft not too long ago. And even with all these things going through my head, I could still only feel Mark's eyes.

"Stop."

He was startled. "Stop what?" He stammered.

"Just tell me what you're thinking. Your stare is killing me."

He chuckled nervously. He raised an arm to rub the back of his neck till it was red. But he didn't tell me.

"I'll figure it out, you know." I promised.

"No you won't." He studied the street as it passed beneath him.

"It's Roger."

No response.

"It's Roger, because it's always been Roger, because it will always be Roger, because it needs to be Roger."

Just the screaming wind.

"You thought you'd given him a reason, didn't you? You thought every moment of every day that you sacrificed for Roger was enough of a reason."

His breathing.

"It was, Mark. Roger just doesn't see it."

"You're magic." He muttered.

"What?" I asked in disbelief.

"Everything you say or do…it's magic. I don't know how you do it, but you've been a goddamn miracle worker since you stepped into the loft, muttering like you were insane."

I smiled down at the street. It was a compliment. I'd just ignore the last part.

"You did something to Roger, Mia. You got him to say things. I know you did, because that little outburst he just made wasn't nearly as explosive as all his other ones. Roger doesn't tell people what he feels when he feels it. So when he finally does, he spits fire and he _burns._ He really burns. Roger has stopped saying things that don't burn. Except tonight. Those things he said were real words, real feelings, real emotions. It's been so long since he's done that without telling me how much he wishes I was burning in hell."

"Does it hurt?"

"Of course it hurts. But it's not his words that hurt. It's not ever knowing what he truly feels. Because anger doesn't always speak the truth, despite how much people believe it does."

It was my turn to stay quiet. A bike's bell chimed. A meat truck roared beside us. My pulse beat in my ears.

"I've tried for six long months to do what you did in a few hours. And I was his best friend. You _must _be magic."

"I'm not. I'm really not." I assured him.

"Then how could you know what to say? What would break him? What was too much and what was just enough?"

I inhaled. "I just did."

For a long time, Mark and I just wandered the streets. We were heading for the lot, and I knew Mark knew where it was, but I think he needed to take the long way to get there. The city had settled a bit, in that break between the pulse of the early night and the pulse of the late night. Before the drunks and druggies owned the streets. Before the city became an awful, evil place.

"I think that you need a reason, too."

"What?" He asked.

"Because every moment of your life is owned by Roger, I think you need a reason to gain it back."

"Maybe." He admitted.

"I think you're waiting for him to find it."

"I am." He said through a sigh.

"He will."

"How- "

"Don't ask why. I just know."

He dug his fists into his coat pockets. I kicked a rock beneath my boots.

"I'm just tired. It's not as if I don't care about him, or I don't want him to be better. I just wish I could have my life back. I want to be creative again and…and I want to feel hopeful again. Because as little hope Roger has for a bright future, I have less."

I parted my lips to respond, but Mark continued.

"Roger won't get better with me helping him. I've been trying for six months, and there are just some things I can't do."

"You're right." I answered, convinced. He gaped at me.

"You can't do everything for him. You can't make him want to be alive, you can't make him make peace with his past, you can't make him see the same things you see. As much as you try Mark, and I know you try, you can't make him happy."

"Then what will?" He asked me, truly hoping I knew the answer.

"The same thing that made him happy before."

"Love." He spit.

"Is that a foreign concept?" I half-laughed.

"Yes." He answered sternly. "To both of us." I waited for him to elaborate.

"He won't trust love again," Mark explained. "Not after losing her. He can't forgive himself. He doesn't believe there will be a second chance. What he lost was it."

"We're not only talking about Roger here, are we?" I locked eyes with him. He breathed out through his nose.

"No, we're not."

"Well, I think both of the people we're talking about are going to get their chances. Because both of the people we're talking about still have time. The best things come when you're not looking for them, Mark."

"Stop always knowing it's me."

"Well, it must be. It can't always be Roger, can it?"

"Not if I'm going to survive any longer then he does." I smiled a bit. So did he.

"Just wait, Mark. Just wait."

"I can't, Mia. We've been waiting. Since we found out Collins had AIDS, since April died and we found out Roger had AIDS, we just keep waiting. We need to do something."

"You want something to do?"

"Yes." He spit.

"Let go." I breathed.

That was when we realized we were standing in front of the performance space.

"The lot." I breathed.

"Where a stage is partially set up." Mark narrated, and I wrenched my neck to the side to see his camera already plastered to his face.

"You don't waste a second, do you?" I asked, digging my hands into my pockets. He turned the camera to me and I divulged a shy smile.

"Me? Never." He tucked his camera under his arm and we waltzed in together. We both froze into the floor when we saw a dark-skinned, dark-haired women fumbling around the stage. Slowly, I turned my eyes to Mark, who was glaring right back at me. Together we murmured, _Joanne._

"Mark?" Mark's head jerked away to see the graceful women facing us with a hand on her hip and a disheveled look to her.

"Hi." He gulped.

"You know, I told her not to call you…" She said, not really to us, because she was turning away in frustration to fiddle with a microphone stand that wasn't going to last the night in its condition. But Mark didn't catch on.

"Well, that's Maureen. Can I help? Since I'm here?" He began lifting his camera bag over his shoulder and I helpfully took it from him. He smiled gratefully.

"I hired an engineer." She spat, not even looking at us.

"Oh. Uhm. Okay, well we'll just be going. It's nice to have, uh -"

"Wait." She interrupted. She sucked in air and let it rest in her cheeks before spitting it back out.

"She's three hours late." Mark looked to me and smiled slightly.

"Alright then. Nice to meet you." Mark extended a hand to her. She took it hesitantly.

"Joanne." She looked past him and watched me quizzically.

"Mia. My roommate." Mark inserted and stepped away from her so I could walk forward.

"Hi." I cleared my throat. It felt like I was trying to chisel blocks of ice.

"Pleasure to meet you." The greeting rolled off her tongue without any emotion to it, so obviously over-used.

"The samples won't delay, but the cable -"

Mark's turn to interrupt. "Don't worry. There's another way." I watched him bend down behind some of the wires and fiddle for a few moments.

"Just say something. Anything." He instructed.

She cupped the mic in her hands. "Test 1, 2, 3."

It was then I knew why he cringed at the sound of it. The words crackled in my head.

"Anything but that." He groaned. I took a seat on a folded chair off to the side and assembled it at the base of the stage. I started fiddling with the zipper on my coat to ignore the silence.

"Well, this is weird." Joanne spoke quickly.

"It's weird." Mark agreed, as if she just said the sky was blue.

"Very weird."

"Fuckin' weird." He looked out from behind the equipment at me and put an index finger to his forehead and 'pulled the trigger'. I let out a small giggle.

"You know, I can't believe her. Leaves me here with all her equipment and shit to take care of, while I have no idea what I'm doing. Then she offers to call you, her ex-boyfriend, which might be sufficiently awkward for us, I ask her not to, and she goes ahead and does it anyway. And then disappears somewhere in the city." Joanne rambled and I grabbed another folded chair beside me and opened it for her. I patted the seat, and she came down and collapsed into it.

"Feel like chugging gasoline?" Mark asked without thought, currently trying to find a wire that remotely resembled the one he was now holding.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea." She said, crossing her arms at her chest. I smiled at her and we shared a laugh.

"It's all an act."

"An act?" She wondered aloud.

"Yes, an act. Everything with Maureen is an act." I wasn't sure Mark was even aware that words were bubbling out of his mouth.

"Not with me."

"_Yes _with you." He insisted. Frustrated, he threw down the wires and grunted. Defeated, he scooted to the front of the stage and put his elbows on his bent knees.

"Care to explain?" She leaned forward and folded her fingers into each other.

"It's called, The Tango: Maureen."

"You're clearly the open one of the group." I said to Mark as we were making our way to the Life Support meeting. Mark had been silent since we left Joanne at the lot, where the two of them had swapped stories about Life with Maureen until Mark had patched the mics. His blue, blue eyes hit me now nervously and then he shook his head solemnly.

"Just when provoked." I saw a smile peeking out as he studied the street.

"Is that so?"

"Someone has to speak, I guess. Lord knows Roger doesn't."

"And Collins?" I asked, although I already knew.

"Eh. He's a funny one." Mark tilted his head, still watching the street. "He can talk forever, but he doesn't really say anything. Unless it's just the two of you. Collins has the ability to say things at the perfect moment." Oh. Didn't know that.

"How?" I prodded.

"Hm. Well once, Roger locked me out of the loft in one of his rages and refused to let me in, so I sat on the steps outside the door till Collins came home and sat beside me. That was the first time he admitted how he felt about Roger's withdrawal."

I didn't say anything.

"And another time, Roger was fiddling with his guitar strings on the roof in July, because it was hotter inside then outside, if it was possible. Collins went up and listened to Roger's most recent song and told him what he thought would make it more real. When Roger played it at the club, people begged him to play it again."

"A gift, I see?"

"Must be."

"Can I get Collins to tell me things?"

"The moment is key. If it's right, he'll tell you anything you want to know."

I planned to take Collins up on that. Mark kept checking his hand to where the address of the meeting was scribbled in his meticulous scrawl.

"She couldn't have been that bad." I said to silence the wind.

"Who?" Mark asked, confused.

"Maureen."

"Oh….no, she was," He said slowly. "And she wasn't. And she was."

"Awful lot of back and forth."

"It was bittersweet, to say the least. There were the moments where Roger and I were dirt poor, freezing, and hating ourselves for every heartbeat, that Maureen made worthwhile. I like to remember those moments best."

"Worth it?" I asked him casually. But I could tell Mark needed to really contemplate it.

"Yeah. I'd say so. Love's a pretty amazing thing when it works."

I nodded coldly. Colder then the wind gutting me from the insides.

"This is it." Mark nodded up at a recreational center tucked between two buildings. He shrugged his shoulders at me and we started up the steps. My pulse quickened. I just realized where we were going.

A support group.

For people with AIDS.

That hit too close to home.

"You alright?" Mark rested a hand on my shoulder. _He can see through me_, I was sure.

"Yeah. I'm alright." I answered, more convicted then I actually was.

Mark then cupped my hand in his, and the warmth melted me. Right then, I was _defenitly_ alright.

Mark held the door open and I stepped beneath his arm. Voices bounced off the walls, increasing in volume as we walked farther into the room.

"Steve."

"Gordon."

"Pam."

"Sue."

"Hi. I'm Angel."

"Tom. Collins."

"I'm Paul, let's begin."

CRASH! _Smooth, Mark._

"Sorry. Excuse me. Oops." Mark muttered, mortified.

"And you are?" A man with a clipboard asked. A clipboard? What use is there for a clipboard at a meeting for people who are dying? The answers they wanted were most certainly not on a clipboard.

Mark gripped his camera and his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, I'm not – I'm just here to – I don't have – I'm here with -"

"Mark." I answered for him, gripping his forearm. "Mark."

"I'm Mark." He garbled, a shade of violet seeping into his face from behind his ears.

Paul looked to me and nodded.

"I'm Mia." I answered, keeping my voice level.

"Sit down, Mark. Mia. We'll continue the affirmation."

"Paul?" A meek voice rose from the chair across from us. I tried to connect it to a body and saw just that – a body. A body with jagged edges and visible ribs. The body was also shivering madly.

"Yes Gordon?" Paul, the man with the clipboard, asked eagerly.

"I'm sorry but…this philosophy. I can't accept it." The entire room exchanged glances.

"What do you mean?"

"My T-cells are low, and I regret that news, okay? I regret it." He tried to raise his voice to a more audible level.

"But Gordon, how do you feel today?" Paul leant forward in his seat, eyes wide.

"What?"

"How do you feel today?" He repeated.

"Okay." Gordon whispered.

"Is that all?" Paul urged.

Gordon hung his head and exhaled more then air, but maybe some anxiety as well.

"Best I've felt all year." He admitted sheepishly.

"Then why choose fear?"

He looked up, his eyes wild. "I'm a New Yorker, fear's my life."

The room let out a hesitant chuckle, as if laughter wasn't permitted in a room full of dying people. I locked eyes with Angel, who waved her pinky at me and her dark blue ring glinted in the dim lighting. Angel, who was more living then anything or anyone I'd ever known.

She may have been dying, but she was alive.

"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect. I guess it's because I'm used to relying on reason. But…I've tried to open up to what I don't know." Gordon lifted his head from his lap and let his eyes settle on a point above all our heads. "Because reason says I should have died three years ago."

"No other road," Paul recited in a way that made it sound as if he were the first person to ever say those words.

"No other way," the room echoed.

"No day but today." I reached for Mark but all I felt was air. I jerked my head. His camera was rolling.

I realized that night why people hate the cold.

I found myself strolling the same streets for the fourth time that day, the wind ever-present and unforgiving. The four of us, an unlikely group with maybe nothing that tied us together, were alike if only that we were all praying for the wind to stop blowing. It whipped wildly and it whispered threats and lost dreams in our ears. _This is what Christmas really is,_ I thought. _Lost dreams and wind._

This is Mark and Roger's Christmas.

"Hey." Collins broke the silence. "Thank you both."

"For what?" Mark wondered.

"Showing up. Unlike some people." His eyes wandered down a few blocks to where the loft was. In this cold, a few blocks felt like thousands of miles.

"He's not ready." I spit out. I instantly regretted it.

"Is that so?" Collins asked. All their eyes on me made my skin hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek as I answered slowly.

"I just mean…Roger said some things,"

"He's let you in quite a bit." Collins cut me off.

"I know." I grunted.

"You're lucky. You're getting Roger on his best behavior."

"Lucky. Yeah." I repeated, and I studied the street at my feet.

And the silence settled in.

"How do you do it?"

"You're really one for outbursts, aren't you?" Collins asked me. If they came from anyone else, most of his words would seem incriminating. But when he spoke, he spoke with affection.

"I'm sorry, but I've wanted to know since we stepped into that building." It had been longer, actually. But they didn't know that. "How do you go on knowing your days are numbered?"

Collins heaved and shook his head to the ground while Angel half-smiled and laced her arm through is.

"What other choice do we have?" She asked me. I remained silent.

"You don't 'go on'. And you don't 'get through it'. It just happens." Collins said wearily.

"But how do you keep living just as you always had?" I prodded.

"Well that takes courage." Angel spoke. "Fear is easy."

"It's hard. It's gripping. It hurts. And then time passes and you realize that any ordinary day of your life could have in fact been your last. But it wasn't. You realize what a gift time is when you don't have much of it left." Collins' voice was suddenly less over-powering.

"I don't understand." I moaned helplessly.

"Mia, don't get us wrong," Angel tried, "No one wants to wake up one morning and then realize they only have so much longer to live."

"But you don't want to stop living before you actually die." Collins added.

I looked to see how Mark was internalizing this. His eyes were glued to the ground.

"What makes you want to keep living?"

"The same thing that made us before."

Their words weren't penetrating with me, and I looked at them bewildered.

"You can't control your destiny," Angel said softly.

"Our only goal is just to be." Collins rested a hand on my shoulder.

"There's only now," I whispered.

"There's only here," I heard Mark mumble beside me.

Angel stood in front of me and stopped the four of us. She put her thumb on my cheek and lifted my head. She placed a lock of billowing hair behind my ear and smiled honey-slow. I swear I heard a bird sing.

"There's still time, you know." I said to comfort her, but I think I really wanted to comfort myself. She kissed my forehead.

"Sweetheart, there's always time." This was Angel. Not the person I saw dancing on stage several times, not the voice I heard bursting from speakers. This is what she was, and I would have never really known her if I hadn't met her.

It sounded so obvious. But in truth, it wasn't when the line between real and make-believe had been so blurry.

We were at the loft. Mark fingered his pocket for the keys.

"Shit," he mumbled. "They're in the loft."

"Nice going, boy. Anyone got a quarter?" Collins nodded towards the phone booth.

"Wait…" Mark's voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the loft windows. A figure was pacing back and forth. A woman.

"Someone's up there with Roger." He said softly.

"So?" Collins' asked coolly.

"A woman."

Collins paused and strode away from the phone booth. "We'll take the fire escape."

"The fire escape?" I gaped incredulously.

"Come on, don't you want a little more adventure in your life?" Collins hollered as he pulled down the ladder.

"My lady." He offered a hand to Angel, who gladly scurried up the ladder in her pumps. Something told me she'd done this before.

Collins started up and I glared at Mark. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll be right behind you." That was convincing enough. I started up.

"It's fucking frozen!" Mark howled as his fingers wrapped around a rung.

"The joy of Christmas." Collins said sardonically.

We were halfway up when we heard voices bouncing off each other, ideas being thrown around.

"It's Roger!" Angel shrieked, recognizing the deeper pitch.

"Mark, who was that girl in there?" Collins questioned down the ladder.

"I dunno…" He bit his lip. "Never seen her."

"Mimi." I let out without realizing it. I blinked and looked up to Collins. "Her name's Mimi."

"Mimi Marquez?" Angel's voice perked up.

"Something like that," I half-answered.

We could make out their words, "I can't control -"

"Control your temper."

"- my destiny. I trust my soul,"

"Who says there is a soul!"

"My only goal is just to _be_!"

"Just let me be!"

"It IS Mimi Marquez!" Angel exclaimed.

"You know her?" Collins interrogated. "She clean?" He asked protectively.

"No better than Roger was." I spat.

Collins whipped his head to see me but I looked away. He glanced at Angel for conformation.

"…to say the least." She finished sadly.

We had reached the loft. Angel first, then Collins, I behind and finally Mark. The four of us huddled in the cold and peered into the loft with the Peter-Pan window sprung open and voices competing against each other.

"Who do you think you are -"

"There's only now, there's only here,"

"- barging in on me and my guitar?"

"Give in to love, or live in fear."

"Little girl hey -"

"No other path,"

"- the door is that way."

"No other way,"

The four of us watched the entire battle, Mimi who was kneeling on the metal table now grabbing hold of Roger's forearms and making his eyes meet hers.

"No day but today."

"The fire's out anyway!" He spat in her face. He stormed the other direction.

"No day but today." She persisted, leaping from the table.

"Take your powder, take your candle-"

"No day but today." She seized his arm and turned him on his heels.

"Take your brown eyes, your pretty smile, your silhouette-" He broke free of her grasp again and strode even more towards the fire escape, our view of everything so undeniably clear.

"No day but today!"

"Another time, another place, another rhyme, a warm embrace…" He spewed.

"No day but today." She repeated. The two of them stood right in front of the fire escape but still didn't notice our presence. Roger finally turned to her and their eyes were locked on each other.

Roger spoke desperately, "Another dance, another way, another chance…another day."

The four of us, that unlikely grouping of mismatched people with disconnected pasts, found one more thing that we had in common. We knew what we had to say just then. And it came out as a chorus; a prayer.

We prayed.

"No day but today." Two heads whipped harder than the wind and our eyes settled on them unafraid. Mimi looked away; glared at Roger with every ounce of strength in her and demanded him in her stare. Roger pushed against his bottom teeth with his tongue. She looked away in fury, and then once more at us; a silent thank you. She darted out of the loft, slamming the door behind her.

Roger's footsteps were even louder down the hall. His bedroom door locked behind him.

"Mark, it's been an hour."

Angel brushed her hand against Mark's to get him to look away from the hallway.

"I'm still hoping he'll come out on his own."

"He hasn't come out on his own in months." Collins reasoned.

"Maybe today's the day."

"Maybe it's not."

The four of us huddled around the couch, the same places we'd been in for the past hour. Angel was seated beside Mark, who was still gazing hopefully down the hallway. Collins' face was resting on both his fists, his elbows propped on the back of the couch as he kneeled. I was on the floor at Angel's feet, my head against the arm of the couch. There had been no sound from Roger's room since he stormed off an hour ago, but I think we would have preferred the noise. Noise meant something was happening. Silence was deadly.

"We're gunna be late, Mark." I started, tilting my head back farther to try to look up at him.

"Someone needs to talk to him." He mumbled, still glaring down the hallway.

"Well, why didn't you get up an hour ago?" Collins smacked the back of Mark's neck.

"Alright. I'm going."

"Take Mia?" Collins asked, tilting his head towards me.

"Yeah. Come with me." He outstretched his hand to me.

"I think Roger might have had enough of me for one night."

"He's had enough of me too. That doesn't mean I stop trying." Mark's hand was looking even more and more appealing. I grasped it firmly. It had been surprisingly easy to take any of their hands since I'd stepped into the loft; easy to take their word and their advice. For some reason, I had placed more trust in people I'd just met tonight then I'd placed in anyone my entire life. It may have been because I believed them. Or maybe because I just _wanted_ to believe them.

We stood at Roger's door and Mark took an exaggerated breath, rubbing his temples. He knocked timidly.

No response.

His knock was more firm this time.

Nothing.

His knuckles rapped wildly.

"It's open." A growl from the inside.

"I believe that's an invitation." Mark turned the doorknob and allowed me in first.

"Oh look, it's Mark and Mia here to save the day." Roger mumbled mockingly.

"How long were you planning on keeping yourself locked up in here?"

"Hadn't really thought about it. Till I die sounds pretty good to me." He sat on the bed, his back hunched; his knees spread with his feet on the frozen wood floor. Mark and I lingered in the doorway, exchanging tentative glances back and forth.

"Roger, what happened?"

"I think you've asked enough questions, Miss Mia Cordon." Roger spat at me.

"Hey, watch it Roger." Mark defended me.

"Why should I?" He snarled, his back still turned from us.

"Because she could be the best thing that's happened to us in months." Mark glanced at me and his eyes apologized for Roger. I placed a lock of hair behind my ear and beamed.

"Months? Feels like years."

"That's because you refuse to let time pass."

"Mark, get off it. Don't pretend you understand me, alright? Because all this condescending bullshit is beginning to piss me off."

"What do you purpose I do, Roger? Just let you sit in here and rot?"

"Now we're seeing eye-to-eye on this." He muttered.

I stopped Mark from saying anything else. Roger did burn, but I wasn't going to let him singe me. I took a seat on the bed tentatively.

"She was beautiful, Roger." There was a long time before he answered.

"Yes. She was."

Admission granted. I turned back and urged Mark to sit beside me. He crossed his arms and lent against the door, unforgiving.

I gave up and turned back to Roger. "She came back?"

"Just like you said." Roger said bitterly.

"Tell us what happened." I asked slowly.

"She said, 'Would you light my candle?' and she put on a pout, and she wanted me to take her out tonight."

"From the beginning." I coaxed.

He heaved slowly. "Alright."

From the moment Mimi stepped into the loft and Roger first set eyes on her, to the blowout they had and her dramatic exit, Roger told Mark and I everything that had occurred. Mark looked at me incredulously, his eyes wondering how I could pull this out of him. I shrugged, because even I was wondering the same thing.

"Will she get you out?" Mark asked after Roger paused and leaned back against the pillows.

"She was more then okay, but I pushed her away." He rested his forearm against his eyes and breathed. "It was bad, I got mad, and I had to get her out of my sight."

"You said she was sweet." Mark pointed out.

"I wanna eat. I'll just get fat. It's the one vice left."

Mark and I shared a timid laugh. I think Roger smiled beneath his arm.

"Roger. How come you push people away?" It seemed like such a ridiculous question, one where the answers were slapping Mark in the face on a daily basis. But it had yet to be asked. And most certainly yet to be answered.

"… Because I'm dying."

"So's Collins. So's Angel. But their arms are still open."

"What do you expect me to do, here? _I_ don't even know what to do. I've been trying to figure it out, but it gets harder every day to reach an answer." I most certainly couldn't tell him the answer. I looked to Mark. His stare was blank. And then something struck me.

"Maybe, there is no answer. Maybe you don't do anything. Maybe you just keep living."

"For what?"

"For whatever you lived for before." Mark added, as we both recalled what Angel and Collins' had told us. He put one knee on the bed and rested a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm scared." It finally came out. Mark's eyes exploded in his head and I felt near-tears. Mark had been waiting for those words for months, years; for any sign of weakness in Roger. For him to finally admit it.

I reached for his hand. Roger removed his arm from his eyes. "What are you scared of?"

"I'm not scared of dying, if that's what you're thinking." Yes actually, that's what I was thinking. I could tell Mark was thinking it to. We urged Roger with our eyes for more. He looked to the window with the shredded, dingy curtains and past it to find something more beautiful. I don't think he did. But if he had asked me, I could have told him a thousand sights in one glance. And so could Mark. But that was what Roger was. He was always seeing different things, denying the beauty that surrounded him. I couldn't guess, but I imagined the world in Roger's eyes was an awful, ugly place.

Finally, he sat up and looked at us straight in the face.

"I just want to know… Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"

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**Author's Note:** Hm, not sure how much I liked this one? But perhaps. What do you all think? ACT ONE IS ALMOST COMPLETE ! I've got good plans. Reviewwwwwww.


	6. Promises

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews, guys. Keep it up, yes? And Falling April, I pretty much freaking adore you. Hahah, thank you for your honesty and advice. I hope I can make you like this story! This is for youuuuu.

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"He in?"

"Yeah. He's in." Mark and I emerged from Roger's room to meet the stares of Collins and Angel. Collins stood and shouldered Mark, then wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Whadja say?" Collins inquired.

"Nothing. He did the talking." I answered up to him.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" He chuckled.

"The same reason I did." Mark rolled his eyes and smiled, slumping onto the couch besides Angel. Collins and I followed his lead.

"Roger said he'd be out in a few minutes."

"You trust him?" Collins asked me.

"For now." I smirked.

Mark stood and treaded to the fire escape and looked down onto the street. He saw Benny shooing some homeless man from an alley; all he had left.

"The tin man strikes again." Mark mumbled. We half-smiled in sympathy.

"New York City…" Angel began.

"Uh-huh." Mark turned away from the fire escape and leaned on the back of the couch.

"Center of the Universe."

"Sing it, girl." Collins urged. He leaned back contentedly.

"Times are shitty, but I'm pretty sure they can't get worse."

"I hear ya." Mark sighed.

"Ain't it true?" I inserted.

"It's a comfort to know, while you're singin' the hit-the-road blues, that anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be a pleasure cruise."

The four of us smiled despite ourselves as we indulged in four different dreams.

"Now you're talkin!" Collins exclaimed. He jumped up on top of the coffee table to tell his story. Mark leaned forward against my back, Angel and I giggling beside each other.

"Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle, and I'm sick of grading papers that I know. I'm shouting in my sleep; I need a muzzle! And all this misery pays no salary so…"

"So!?" Angel shouted from her spot on the couch.

"So, let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe." Collins proposed, jumping down from the coffee table, dancing around the room in a playful strut.

"Sunny Santa Fe would be nice…" Mark reasoned to himself.

"Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe and leave this to the roaches and mice!"

"You teach?" Angel questioned, crossing her legs. Collins bounded back in front of us and squatted to meet her eye-level.

"I teach. Computer-age philosophy. But my students would rather watch TV…"

"America." Angel said, disapprovingly.

"America!" We chorused.

"You're a sensitive aesthete – brush the sauce onto the meet…" He placed a finger on Mark's nose, lovingly.

"You could make the menu sparkle with rhyme." He placed his palms on my thighs and pushed off me.

"You could drum a gentle drum!" He had Angel stand and twirled her beneath his arm.

"And I could seat guests as they come!" Collins and Angel danced lightheartedly around the room, making their plans and indulging in the fantasy of leaving New York behind. I spun around to see Mark as we joined in, the dream making him all too pleased. I nudged my head towards his camera and he smiled gratefully.

"We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe-"

"-forget this cold bohemian hell!" Mark called out, filming Collins' and Angel's playful steps. I leaped from the couch and felt Mark's camera in my face as I joined in with Collins and Angel. We roped Mark in with us, our laughter and giddiness warming up the entire loft. The four of us collapsed in pure joy on the couch and we heard a voice come from the hallway.

"Do you know the way to Santa Fe?" Roger stood with his hands resting in his leather jacket's pockets, a playful smile dancing across his lips. I had to bite my lip to control my own smile from taking over.

"Ya know, tumbleweeds…" Collins continued, gesturing Roger over.

"…Prairie dogs…" Roger offered, collapsing in between Collins and I.

We all closed our eyes and leant back into each other, forgetting the bitterness of winter and the harsh reality we all lived in. We all just felt each other, the warmth generating in that tiny space in that tiny moment of time that was enough for us for the rest of our lives. It didn't matter that none of us had enough inside us to really get up and leave, forgetting everything we'd made for ourselves. It didn't matter we had no idea how to get to Santa Fe, that it was just a dream-like place we retreated to for a mental escape. Nothing mattered when it was the five of us; the five of us all in the same place for one brief moment.

Together, we all sighed, "Yeah…"

St. Mark's was much more intense then I could have ever imagined.

There were a million bodies passing me every second, so many people with so many stories with so many hearts. It hurt to think of everything I was missing in just one glance at that place. But I looked up at Mark, Collins, Angel and Roger, all at my side, and decided it couldn't be too much.

We paced through the busy center aimlessly, the chill intensifying.

"Damn, it's cold." Collins shuddered.

Angel looked up at him compassionately, eyeing a coat vendor nearby.

"I'll get you a coat."

"You don't have to do this…" He protested.

"Hush your mouth, it's Christmas." I felt the warmth radiating from her.

"I do not deserve you Angel. Give, give, all you do is give. Give me some way to show how you've touched me so."

She smiled at him with so much love, it pained my heart.

"Kiss me, it's beginning to snow." They wandered off.

Roger's big eyes were gleaming as he took everything in. He looked rejuvenated, like being outside after so long had reminded him what life was again. A pack of junkies stumbled besides us.

"Watch it, Mia." Mark wrapped an arm around me to move me out of their path. As I watched them pass, I tried to imagine Roger in this herd only so long ago. I tried to imagine Roger, who had so much inside him and so many things to say and teach, being nothing but a statistic. One more using. One more dying. He meant more then 'one more'.

And then I saw Mimi in the pack. She staggered into Roger's back. He finally spun around, and his face lit up.

"Hey." Mark smiled down at me and I returned it. We watched the exchange.

"Hey." She answered slowly.

"I just wanna say I'm sorry for the way -"

"Forget it." She held up a hand to cut him off and turned away slightly.

"- I blew up. Can I make it up to you?" He offered her his hand.

"How?" She asked slyly, turning back to him. She lifted her sunglasses from her eyes.

"Dinner party?"

"That'll do." She took his outstretched hand.

"Mission accomplished." Mark whispered to me as we watched Roger shake a dealer from Mimi's side.

"Don't we know it?" I answered, ecstatic.

"Mark, this is Mimi." Roger was at our feet and I finally saw Mimi in all her glory. Sporting the electric blue pants I knew so well and the leopard-print coat, I had never seen anyone so stunningly beautiful. And so effortlessly.

"Hi." They both greeted.

"You've met Mia." When Roger looked up at me, he smiled in a way that made me feel like he was thanking me. I couldn't recall what I had done, or how any of this could be attributed to me, but I accepted it and smiled back at him.

"Yes. Hi, I'm Mimi." She gave me her hand and I took it gingerly. It was trembling, and I felt chills racing up my spine. I tried to imagine the trembles coming from Roger's hand, which I was certainly sure they had.

And then I saw his face. His eyes started to regain something. So, I let it go.

"I think we've met…" Mark spoke, studying Mimi's features.

"That's what he said." She looked down to her feet, hiding her eyes; those eyes that almost anyone could find someone in.

"Let's go to the lot – Maureen's performing." I said.

"Who's Maureen?" Mimi asked.

"His ex." Roger couldn't stifle his laughter.

"But I am _over her_." Mark assured her, glaring fiercely at Roger. He shrugged playfully, punching Mark in the arm. Mark didn't feel too playful.

Mimi reached for Roger's fingers, and he pulled away.

"Let's not hold hands yet." He spoke into her hair.

"Is that a warning?" She replaced a hurt look with one of anger. How well I knew that play.

I scanned the scene for Collins and Angel to find them both scurrying towards us, Collins dressed in a new leather coat.

Roger whispered more to her, "I should tell you, I -"

Collins, at our feet, interrupted, "Hey, it's beginning to -"

We all whipped our heads when we heard a motorcycle engine's roar. A striking woman straddled the bike, the headlights blinding. She removed her helmet and shook out her hair. Her voice came out like she was singing.

"Joanne, which way to the stage?"

Mark gulped.

Roger chuckled.

Collins smiled.

"Snow." I whispered.

If there was only one thing in the universe I was sure of, it was that nothing in the entire city could be even as remotely beautiful as we were that night.

Striding down the street, shouldering one another and dancing on street corners, our voices echoing through the alleys – there was something so perfect about each one of us. Mimi on the edge, shoving herself into Roger's hip to get his attention; Roger, always avoiding anything and everything, punching Mark and chuckling lightly to himself; Mark in the middle, his sheepish smile growing every time Maureen spoke; Maureen was beside him, Joanne's arm at her waist; Angel and Collins treaded in front of the group, stumbling as they walked backwards with their fingertips laced. And I stood between Mark and Roger where, for that one brief moment in time, I belonged.

The cold didn't hurt so much with the warmth they all radiated. The Life Café was merely a block away, but I think we could have walked even farther. I was sure I'd walk to the end of the world and back with these people, make a billion promises I would be sure to keep; anything they could have asked of me, I would have given up. It may seem crazy, to pledge so much of myself after only a few hours, but there was something more real in those few hours then there'd ever been in my entire life. I finally understood how they could all feel so much passion so quickly, as I'd seen on stage so many times. When you lived it, it was that much more beautiful.

"Maureen, you're fucking incredible!" Collins voice boomed after he swallowed some residual laughter. "Fucking in-CRED-I-BLE!"

Maureen fluffed her hair playfully and replied in her best accent, "Thanks, you're a doll."

"I mean, we all knew you were annoying, but you made a large group of people riot? Now that's no small feat!" Collins declared.

Maureen slapped him on the arm, "Joke's over."

"Hey, hey!" Collins winced, "watch it. You should be thanking your lucky stars for that one Maureen, because it got you on TV, did it not?"

A smile erupted on her face, "All thanks to Marky!" She squealed, grabbing his arm. Mark's insides squirmed; it showed on his face. We were at the Life Café, which saved Mark from having to form any words. The eight of us stumbled into the doorway.

"Ay, Gordo!" Collins hollered across the restaurant. Mark looked to me and rolled his eyes. I thanked him with my smile.

"Hey Leo," Roger yelped to the man seating people, who he seemed to know. 'Leo' seemed to know Roger too; you could tell by the look of horror that ran across his face. "Put us up, will ya?" Roger demanded.

"No, not tonight." Leo groaned, pained. "Please no, can't you -"

"Whattaya mean?" Maureen demanded, "We want a table and we want it now!"

"I said _no_, important customer," He growled through clenched teeth at us, as he politely greeted someone coming in the door.

"What am I, just a blur?" Mark yelped.

"You sit all night, and you never buy!" Leo insisted.

"That's a lie, that's a lie," Mark went on, "I had a tea the other day!"

Leo's face fell. "You couldn't pay." He said flatly.

Mark thought back a moment, "Oh yeah."

Angel reached down her shirt and pulled out some cash, "Tonight, we eat!" She waved the money in front of him, dancing at his feet.

"Benjamin Coffin III, here?!" Collins called over Leo, striding to the massive table in the center of the restaurant.

"Oh no." Leo mumbled, shaking his head.

I knew this part. "Wine and beer!"

"The enemy of Avenue A – we'll stay," Maureen decided for us all, as we took our seats. I had been dreading this part; where do I belong? But Mark pulled out the chair beside him for me, and I knew exactly.

"What brings the mogul in his own mind to the Life Café?" Collins questioned, standing in his seat.

I patted Mark's arm and he turned away from the action. "How are you?" I asked. His face softened at my voice, as if no one had ever asked him. I started to wonder if anyone ever had.

"I'm okay." I smiled slightly, my eyes whispering, _I know you're not and it's okay._

"That's Benny," he went on, changing the subject. "Our ex-roommate."

"I know." I answered automatically. _Fuck, Mia. _

"You know." Mark repeated, speaking down to me.

"I saw the picture in his room." I explained.

"Oh." He didn't believe me, but I told myself he did.

"Why'd he leave?" I asked, suddenly absorbed in everything that ever happened in their world. The things I hadn't seen onstage.

"If you stick around, I'll tell you." I smiled and let out a giggle.

"I'm not going anywhere until I get something to eat." I assured him. Mark looked to the floor and then back up at me.

"That's not what I meant." He sucked on his teeth and then turned back to the scene. Desperate for him to say more, I considered reaching for his arm and shaking it out of him. But I let it be and turned to Mimi beside me. She smiled through her curls.

"Mimi-" Benny roared. She turned away from me. "I'm surprised. A bright and charming girl like you hangs out with these slackers, who don't adhere to deals. They make fun…yet I am the one attempting to do some good."

I saw why they didn't like Benny. If I had adored him before, he made me hate him right now. I defensively crossed my arms at my chest.

"Bohemia, Bohemia's a fallacy in your head," he sing-songed. "This is Calcutta, Bohemia is _dead._"

It seemed as if Mark sprung to life at those few words. Before anyone could react, he bounded onto the table; the lights overhead making his body seem thirty feet tall as I glared up at him above me. I could make out a scar on his jaw line; I made a mental note to ask him about it.

"Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes…" And with that, Mark exploded into something I'd been dying to see. I watched him dance across the table, strolling down its polished face and jumping around as if something was biting him in the ass. This was Mark, I knew then. This person that was dancing across table-tops and singing about a carefree life and existence. Weather or not that existed or he even believed in it was one thing, but that night at the Life Café I saw who Mark was. And in the time I was with those people, I never forgot the true essence of Mark. He was the preacher; he told the stories. He told you what you should believe in. Most believed followed him willingly. And as I watched him that night, he got me to believe in him too. Of all the different things Mark was, I knew that what I was seeing right then, the person who was smiling down at me, was more of Mark then anything else I'd ever see.

The next few minutes were a blur; a crazy, electrifying blur that I got sucked up in. A whirlpool; us all pulsing through this existence following one another, hoping one of us knew the way out of this endless circle. We were screaming and dancing and hoping and praying and shouting and dreaming and preaching. We knew what life was in that moment, even if tomorrow we'd be unsure again. We danced on the table tops, pranced around the room, screamed at the top of our lungs – all the things I had been dying to do in my lifetime and couldn't until I escaped where I came from. We "stuck it to man", screaming at Benny but really proving it to ourselves. I don't remember what we said; just images. I can see Maureen dropping her pants and fingering the zipper slowly as she pulled them back up. I can see her and Joanne groping each other on the table and then declaring they were "sisters". I can see us all hollering "wine and beer!" to anyone who would listen. I can see Mark and his mock-masturbation. I can see Roger leaping onto the table besides Collins as they introduced each other as "Lenny Bruce" and "Langston Hughes". I can see us all leaning into the table and swearing to fight AIDS as my heart burnt. I can see all of it. Because that's what life has always been made of. Not the things that you say, but how you prove them. And that night, we proved them all by living.

Somewhere in the midst of our tirade, I saw Mimi and Roger slipping out into the alleyway behind the Life. I tugged Mark by the shirt, hollering into his ear, "Mimi and Roger disappeared."

"What?" He screamed, his voice eaten by the intoning around us.

I changed my mind, released his shirt from my grip and shook my head. He bounded off to chant some more as I glared around the restaurant. No one would notice I was gone. I slipped out the back door.

I padded into the snow quietly, hoping my boots didn't make much sound. I glared around the corner to see Roger stroking Mimi's face, their voices hushed to match their surroundings.

"How did we get here?" He whispered lovingly. _Mark's words_, my head said.

"Where are you Roger?" She asked of him.

"I'm here," He answered baffled.

"No." She pressed into him. "Where are you?" He seemed to understand what she meant.

"You don't know," he trailed off, kicking at the snow as he stalked the other direction.

"You won't let me." She whispered, grabbing hold of his shoulder.

"Mimi -" He started, his fear melting into the snow at his feet at the sight of her eyes. He started with the words I knew.

"I should tell you, I'm disaster. I forget how to begin it."

"Let's just make this part go faster," Mimi pleaded, clutching his forearm, "I have yet to be in it."

"I should tell you,"

"I should tell you,"

"I should tell you…" I felt my insides clutching; their words so sincere and raw. The look in Roger's eyes, Mimi's calm, hard face; sights so beautiful in the twilight. This was there moment, I knew. I was here for something, I decided. But this wasn't it. Not this song. Another movement, another time. I slipped back into the door to find Mark. He needed me.

"Mia?" The moment I slithered back into the café I heard Angel's voice.

"Yeah?" I asked, brushing the snow off my shoulders.

"Where were you?" Collins asked, always at Angel's side.

"Stepped out for some air."

Before the two of them could say anything, we heard Maureen's shrill voice.

"Guys," Joanne whipped around to all of us. Collins and Angel waved me over with them and we stood beside Mark who was coming down from the high of the evening. "You should see, they padlocked your building and they're rioting on Avenue B!" Joanne declared. "_Benny_ called the cops," she snarled.

"That fuck!" Maureen erupted. Joanne slid her gaze to her and rolled her eyes.

"They don't know what they're doing. The cops are sweeping the lot, but no one's leaving. They're just sitting there…_mooing._" Her eyes lit up. Maureen screamed and Collins laughed contentedly.

"To dance!" The room exploded. As quick as anything, the table was jam packed with people dancing across its surface again. Nothing like a story of a padlocked loft and cops to get people riled up. Mark bounded on top of the table, grabbing my arm and pulling me besides him, Collins and Angel. Maureen giggled beside me, squeezing my arm in a way of greeting.

The next thing I remember is us all leaning into each other and screaming, "To people living with, living with, living with – not dying from disease!" The five of us looked around, locking eyes with one another. We made a promise right there; no words exchanged, just glances. This was life, our eyes said. And as long as it's ours, this is what it's going to be. I wanted that to be carried out. I made my own promise then, to make sure that was exactly what happened in the time I was there. What made me want to change lives? What made me want to stay besides them all and help them see the light? I still don't remember what I thought at the time. But I think it had something to do with how they had done the same for me. Things like that you can never repay. But you can try.

"Is anyone out of the mainstream?" Mark hollered, shoving me to get my attention. He threw his arms out to direct his question at me, "Is anyone in the mainstream?"

"Anyone alive with a sex drive?" I questioned him back, and his face exploded in approval.

"Tear down the wall, aren't we all!" He hopped around me to Collins and Angel, who were grinding on the table. "The opposite of war isn't peace,"

"It's creation!" I filled in. He watched me for a moment and then fell into a smile. That meant yes.

I heard the door open then. Roger and Mimi were leaning against it, as he slowly pressed his lips against hers. As soon as they broke apart, Roger's intense emerald eyes found mine immediately, as if I were the only point of focus in the room. His face looked hard for a moment, then scared, and then somehow he smiled. I figure that whatever Roger had just stepped in to, it was going to give him a taste of the highs and lows of all three. As the entire room exploded with the next few words, Roger and I only kept our eyes on each other. A million voices chorused, and Roger and I mouthed on the same airwave,

"Viva La Vie Boheme!"

His eyes said something, too. More then his lips. They said, _I promise._

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Yeah, this kinda suckedddddd. But whatev, you do what you can. Please review? It'd make this author **_very _**happy. And I have the most amazing idea for next chapter. TRUST MEEEEEE, you wanna see this one! Love you all, thank you so much.


	7. Nowhere Else to Be

**Author's Note:** Whatt? Chapter Seven? WHAT?! Hahah hey all, I'm back. Not gunna lie to you, I was so excited for this. Because a lot of this chapter is just my original thinking, not trying to push the story along like the other chapters. I really hope you guys appreciate the story, and I've gotten great feedback from people who thought it was going to suck and turns out they liked it. Makes me so happy! So tell some people, will ya? P.S. Noticed that on a few chapters the formatting was a little retarded. So, forgive me? Read and review all!

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The loft was waiting for us. It sucked us in like a vacuum and we succumbed, willingly. The night had taken its toll, and the remaining four of us collapsed on various items of furniture. I found my way to the couch; Mark, the coffee table; Collins, the floor with his head against the arm of the couch. Roger was downstairs saying goodnight to Mimi. For a long time, the three of us sat there taking in air and cycling it out, the sight of our rising chests enough to fill the moments.

"How do you guys live like this?" I finally asked.

"We live fine. We just don't function." Collins retorted. Mark let out a strained laugh; exhaustion plagued him.

"What time is it?" I asked groggily. Collins checked his watch.

"3:15."

Mark and I laughed at ourselves. Out wandering the streets till 3 AM on Christmas. So this was Bohemian life?

Roger wandered through the open loft door, stumbling as he hung up his leather jacket on a random hook in the wall.

"Room for me?" He asked, standing over us.

"Always." Collins tugged at his arm, and Roger splayed himself across the floor.

"Merry Christmas." He mumbled into the floor. The four of us doubled over in laughter. We laid there together for a good five minutes, just listening to each others breathing. It was the most calm, comforting moment since I got there. Mark was the first to move a muscle. He stood up slowly, stepping over Roger's arm and Collins bent knees.

"Where ya going?" I wondered.

"Making some tea. Then finding my mattress. You guys want anything?"

"I'm good."

"Same."

"Nah, Mark."

"Alright." I listened to the faucet trickle cold water into a mug. Mark stumbled around the kitchen, and Collins, Roger and I tried to see him with our eyes shut.

"Will Maureen be here tomorrow?" Roger asked after a long time.

"Probably." Mark called from the kitchen.

"I'm going to sleep." Roger stood up immediately.

"Gunna need your energy?" Collins asked, eyes still shut.

"Definitely. Night, guys."

"Night," we mumbled in fatigue.

"Shit, it's cold." Collins eventually groaned.

"Yeah?" I responded, half-conscious.

"I gotta find a sweatshirt." He murmured, getting up and trailing down the hallway.

The tea kettle whistled and I listened to Mark pour. He wandered over to me, placing a warm mug in my hand.

"I told you I didn't want anything." I said, confused.

"It's a thank you." I smiled and took a sip. "Repay anything?" He asked me.

"Everything." I said, graciously. "But you have nothing to repay."

He just smiled down at me, his eyes flickering, and he bid me goodnight as he disappeared into his bedroom. My heart felt empty for the first time that day; without any of my best friends surrounding me, I stumbled into Benny's room. I squinted once I flipped the light switch - I hadn't seen light for hours - and clawed for my overnight bag. Fishing out my sweatpants and my brother's old Penn State sweatshirt, I changed hesitantly, feeling all the fabrics against my body. Once in the sweats, I realized I wasn't ready to go to bed. As overtired as I was, there was something that wasn't finished yet. As usual, restlessness struck me. I tottered out of Benny's room and padded through the hallway, my tea mug still in my hand. The fire escape was the most appealing, so I braced myself for the late-night chill.

I folded myself into the cheap plastic lawn chair sitting out, watching the night. My mug was still cupped in both my hands, my only source of warmth. I sipped generously, listening to the wind screaming at me, club music bumping a block or two away – from the Catscratch, I assumed – and a few late-night travelers driving through the Village. I replayed the moments of my visit in my head, a looping clip in my mind. I didn't even hear the footsteps, or Collins breathing behind me.

"I see you found my hideaway." His voice startled me.

"Did I?" I asked.

"Sure did. I come out here to think a lot."

"It definitely clears your head." I agreed.

"Yeah, and sometimes I need a moment away from the Mark/Roger drama. Focus on my own life." He sat on the stairs in a sweatshirt, pulling out a pack of Marlboros from his pocket.

"You want?" He offered. I shook my head and took another sip of tea. The mug was chipped, so a little streamed down my chin.

He lit up, taking a few puffs and holding in his breath until he turned red. I watched the smoke cloud around his face.

"You fit in tonight."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah. Like you've always been here." He said, almost confused by his own words.

"Felt that way. I feel like I'm home."

"Where is home?" He asked me. I shook my head, looking out into the stars.

"Queens." I shrugged.

Collins took another draw on his cigarette, and then leaned forward.

"Tell me why you're here."

"I couldn't if you asked me." I answered him slowly, not turning to face him.

"Come on. How'd you get here?" He persisted. I let out a shaky breath, and then eagerly twisted my body towards him.

"Something ever happen to you that totally defied all logic and reason? That made absolutely no sense and went against everything you ever believed your life would be, and even when you told yourself it was real, you couldn't believe it?" I asked him. He waited for more. "Almost like… almost like…"

"Magic?" He offered. His cigarette went to his lips. I followed his movements, then nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Like magic."

"Yes." He answered immediately.

"What was it?" I begged.

"Tonight. Angel." I sat back, this not being the answer I expected. "You know, you wake up in the morning thinking it's just a regular day. That nothing out of the ordinary is gunna happen to you. You're gunna go through the same routines and same actions, and you're gunna be okay with it because it gets you through one more day. And then, boom, your life changes as you know it."

"Was that what it was like?" I asked him.

"Yeah, it was." He answered, sincere and positive. "There she was, drumming in the moonlight. I passed her when I called you guys from the phone booth, and I saw her, and I heard her, and nothing. I just kept walking. She was any other person on the street. But she comes to my rescue, and I really look into her eyes, and there it is."

"There what is?"

"There everything is." I thought about his words as he took another puff. "That's how you know. You look into their eyes and you could know nothing, but you see everything. My life is in her eyes, and I know that. I see it." We didn't talk for a few moments, the words escaping into the air.

"You never think you have a second chance, but you do. Life can be the most beautiful piece of shit you could ever imagine, but you just have to wait for someone to prove it to you. This is it for me. This is how I'm going to die. I'm going to die with Angel. And if I can't die that way, I may as well be dead now. Because it's as if nothing in my life was my own until now. That she is the other part of me I never had. As if.. I don't know, as if we all have another heart. Maybe that's what love is." He started philosophizing as he spoke, a new theory smacking him in the face. "Maybe we all have two eyes and ears and hearts, and someone else has the other one. You just have to find it. I don't know, that may all be bullshit. All I know is, I belong here. For the first time, I belong anywhere. I feel like there's something I'm supposed to do and I'm going to do it. I have a reason now. I needed a reason. But, the last thing I expected was to wake up this morning and find it."

Mark was right. Collins' words came out like poetry, all at the right moment. I don't know how I pinpointed it. How I got Collins at the time that I needed him most. But then again, that was how I felt about the entire situation. How did I get here, and how did I get here just when I could exist nowhere else?

"Is that what you meant, Mia? Is that what happened to you?" Collins asked.

I looked into my drained tea mug, and then glanced up again into the darkness. My pulled back hair billowed out in front of my face.

"Yeah." I whispered. "Something like that."

He flicked his cigarette, then crushed it with his heel. Collins stood, towering above me, and I looked up at him.

"It's late. You coming in?" He outstretched his hand. But the stars called me.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes. I got some unfinished business." I said, turning away.

"Alright." He cupped my shoulders with his huge hands. "Don't think too much about it, Mia. Some things don't really have a reason. Some things just are." I'm not sure he knew exactly what I was thinking of, but the way the words tumbled out, it was as if I had just told him every moment of my life since birth. I smiled up at him graciously.

"Maybe."

"Live in the illusion. Because I guarantee you, you'll be much happier when you don't know the secrets."

"You're brilliant." I half-laughed. He laughed harder.

"I figure I speak from experience." He pinpointed a star to lock his eyes onto, and then disappeared into the loft. I had followed his line of vision; I now locked my eyes on that same star. There was probably a million to look at, but I just wanted to pledge myself to one. I wanted all of myself to be in one place; to disappear into the magic of one thing and disregard all that surrounded it. And instead of sitting there finding reasons and answers to things that probably didn't have either, I zeroed in on the only star I could see.

I refused to unravel this illusion. It was crazy, it was surreal, it was illogical – then why was it the only thing that felt real?

That was where my questioning ended.

Because I had that answer; it felt real because I wanted it to be. Because it was.

On my way back inside, I dropped the mug in the sink and stopped at every door down the hallway.

"Goodnight Mark,"

"Goodnight Roger,"

"Goodnight Collins," I bid them each. Benny's room looked more and more appealing as I pummeled into the bed. I reached to turn off the bed lamp, and came face-to-face with the picture of my brother and I. All that I needed.

It may all be magic, but I was happy to live a few lies for all this.

"Goodnight, Andrew."

The room fell to darkness.

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I'm not sure what in my life is actually real. My entire existence, I had been questioning what was true and what had been warped in my mind by my wants and fears. And even now, as I recall it all, I can't truly tell you why things happened the way they did. But I like to think it was supposed to happen that way. That there was no other way. That maybe, not being able to tell if it's real or make believe is what makes things worth happening.

A strip of light fell across my twisted body. My eyes met the day; I slowly opened my eyelids, feeling a boulder on my shoulders, and the morning light was seeping in Benny's window. It cracked through the shredded curtains, a faded print I couldn't make out. I sat up hesitantly, feeling the blankets wrapped around me, running my hands across the mattress. Slowly, I felt the world dawning on me, the pieces of it starting to make sense in my head. The first moment of morning was my favorite of the day. When you emerge into reality, and slowly everything around you starts connecting to each other, like your nerve endings are wires that are snapping together. You let your eyes see everything in the morning, unguarded. It's the only moment of the day you let yourself see everything without restraint.

I heard voices bouncing off the walls. A loud booming one, where every syllable was clear as anything. Collins. A deep pitch, that only punctuated a few of the former's thoughts. Roger. And one that kept the two on the same ground. Mark.

I tried to imagine where my voice would fit. So I got up to find out. I padded my way out the door, the hallway illuminated by the loft's windows. I felt the sunlight puring in around me, smothering me with its glow. A shaft of light fell across the metal table where the threesome sat, making their eyes and faces and movements gleam. Everything gleamed that morning. Like we were being surrounded by something beautiful, to keep us all together. I don't know exactly why that morning seemed so magical, but that's what it felt like.

"Merry Christmas!" Collins howled the moment I came into view.

"Right back 'atcha." I responded, my mouth sticky, as I took a seat at the metal table. Roger was besides me, his feet up on the edge of my chair. Mark leaned across the table at the edge, rubbing his temples. Collins bounded around the kitchen, giddy and ecstatic, pouring liquor.

"A little early to drink isn't it?" I asked him.

"Never too early to drink. I normally start at 7."

"What time is it?" Mark groaned.

"8:30."

Roger choked into his coffee. "What?! What the hell are we doing up, then?" We all laughed in response.

"What's the agenda for today, boys?" Collins chorused.

Mark and Roger groaned.

"Alright then." He laughed. "I'm going by Angel's in a little while. Will you three be okay today?"

It took me a moment to figure out I was in that three.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Sure."

"Mia, watch out for them. They're animals."

"Oh, I can tell." I responded in sarcasm. Collins tottered off to his bedroom. Roger wordlessly stood up and wandered over to the couch, crashing down in his sweats and eyeing his guitar by the window sill.

"How is he doing today?" I whispered to Mark, my eyes still on Roger.

"Alright, I guess. Hasn't said much though."

"What do you figure?" I turned to him now.

"The usual. Nothing more, nothing less." Mark poured some more coffee into his mug. He held up a cup to me. I shook my head.

"What about Mimi?"

"I don't know." He answered, pained. "I have no idea what happened last night. I think I'd rather keep it that way." Mark burnt his hand and cursed under his breath. I shook my head and then my eyes found Roger again.

"I'll be back." I said to Mark, who waved his hand but said nothing, sucking on his burnt palm.

"Hey." I greeted Roger, plopping besides him.

"Hi."

"Merry Christmas." I said, with little enthusiasm.

"Yeah." He choked out a laugh, then his eyes went back to the window sill.

"How was last night?" I asked him.

"If anyone would know, it's you." He wasn't bitter, just exhausted.

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer. "Are you sticking around?" The dreaded question. I had refused to even ask myself this one, just kept hoping something would keep me here if I couldn't do it myself. In this new world, I had nothing. Everything I was and everything I had was fading fast, and I knew if I wasn't here, I was nowhere.

"I uh, I don't know…" I mumbled, not sure how to answer. I tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

"You're sticking around." He answered for me, turning to me slowly and letting out a smirk. I shut my eyes and looked into my lap to hide the smile bursting on my face.

"You find all your roommates this way?"

"You mean mumbling like they're insane on our doorstep? Yeah…pretty much." We laughed together. It was the first of many things we would share.

I started to get up when his voice stopped me.

"You ran away." I let this sit in my head for a moment.

"You don't ask questions do you? You just know the answer."

"Usually." It didn't feel like I needed to respond, so I just allowed that to be my reason for being here. The one Roger came up with made more sense then what actually happened.

"Hey." He stopped me again. "I ran away too."

"How long ago?"

"Long enough to forget that I ever lived anywhere else. You don't need whatever made you run away, anyway. There's enough right here." He elaborated, his vagueness still plaguing all our conversations.

I smiled down at him even as he turned away. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that."

Roger was finally done speaking and I treaded to Benny's room. Out of my overnight bag came my clothes, and not a moment after I finished changing was there a knock on the door.

"Come in, Mark."

"How'd you know?" He demanded, stepping in.

"Lucky guess." I smiled. "Is this a consolation prize for putting up with you?" I asked, eyeing the toothbrush in his hand.

"It's a congratulations-for-surviving-and-conquering-the-wrath-of-Roger present. We don't give these out too often."

"How often is not often?" I asked playfully, taking the toothbrush from him.

"Never." He smiled a bit. "I heard you talking. If Roger says you're staying, you're staying." There was something bittersweet about it all. Obviously I was thrilled to be accepted into their world and to be surrounded by them, but there were so many things I hadn't figured out. Things I never would get the opportunity to figure out. Everything that I was before, what would be made of it?

"It's okay, right?"

"What?" I emerged from my thoughts at the sound of Mark's voice.

"To be here?"

"Yeah. No, I mean…I wanna be here. I'm amazed I'm here. I have no where else to be." I answered, taking a seat on the bed in defeat, feeling the answer wasn't what I wanted to say at all.

"Doesn't seem like it." Mark muttered, sitting beside me. He had found my photograph. "That's what you left behind?"

I looked away, disheartened. "Nah, he left me first."

"A guy?"

"Pretty sure. He's my brother." I explained, my usual Andrew reluctance paining me. Mark reached across me to pick up the frame, and a reflex almost stopped him. _Don't touch him, he's too fragile_, something screamed. But then I realized it was a picture. That was all he had been for a while.

"Same eyes." Mark noticed. "What's he like?" Roger, my head answered. He's like Roger.

"He's like Andrew." I said instead. "His name is Andrew." I cleared up.

There wasn't much Mark could ask now, or maybe there was so much and nowhere to begin. Whichever it was, he set the frame back on the nightstand.

"So now what?" He asked.

"I was hoping you knew."

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Collins was heading for the door in less than an hour. Mark, Roger and I had assembled ourselves on the couch, listening to Collins slamming doors and crashing into things. He didn't realize his own strength. He pummeled out of his room at 9:15, making a mad-dash for the toaster as a frozen waffle sat idly; the springs in the damn thing were broken. He shoved the waffle between his teeth with a cardboard box resting in his arms. As he neared the hook where his coat was hanging, he realized he had no free arm to grab it. He made an unidentifiable sound through his breakfast. Roger nudged Mark. Mark nudged me.

"Alright, I'm going." I groaned. I got up and grabbed the coat off the hook for Collins, sliding it over his broad shoulders.

"Where are you going?" I asked him, and he tried to answer with the waffle still in his mouth. Mumbling. I pulled the thing from his lips.

"Try again."

"Angel's. I'll be back in a few hours." He waited for me to hold the waffle back up, and he took it with his teeth. He shook his head as a "goodbye", and then slithered out the door.

"And he's off." Roger mumbled. Mark shook his head, clearly not up for Roger and his moping today, and he headed towards his room.

"He just met her last night." Roger said to me, like he couldn't understand how there could be a connection that quickly. But I knew he did.

"I know." I nodded. I took a seat on the floor in front of him. The wood was cold. "But you just met Mimi last night." He glared at me. Then let it go.

"Yeah."

"Maureen's coming by." I told him.

"Yeah."

"Does she always come by?"

"She started dropping in again a few weeks ago. After she thought she'd given Mark sufficient time to move on." He scoffed.

"I'm assuming it wasn't enough."

"If Mark was dead, it'd be enough."

"You're so morbid."

"Thanks." He shook his head. "Used to be different. Better. When she lived here. But don't tell her I said that." He added quickly. I made an 'x' over my heart.

"What was it like?" I asked, pulling my knees up to my chest.

"It was a different time. She's fun. Annoying as hell, but sweet when she wants to be. I don't know, maybe she was good for Mark in some ways. Gave him some confidence, helped him grow up. Even if she wasn't good for him as a girlfriend." For some reason, I think I understood what he meant.

"Used to be like a sister, you know."

"Really?" I asked, truly surprised.

"I know, it's shocking right?"

"Well, why not anymore?"

"Loyalty." He answered fiercely, locking eyes with me. "And I was different then. She was a sister to a different person." That was where he stopped. Roger could only go so far, I was starting to realize, allow so much out in words and then he'd put it somewhere else. For now, I was happy for what I got out of him. I'd settle for it.

"Why do you think she's coming by today?"

"No idea." He shook his head. "To hang around. Get things back the way they were, maybe. She always complains about it, how we ended everything, but honestly, can she be so blind to the fact that things can't go back to the way they were unless somebody steps up to fix it?"

"Who's going to?"

"Not Mark, that's for sure. He's still grieving; I think he kinda believes he's still got a shot. Not me, because I don't need anything. I'll be here tomorrow with or without her. Or…"

"…maybe you won't." I filled in for him. He looked at me disappointed, as if I had broken a rule by actually admitting Roger might die. As if it was only okay if he said it, and only to himself.

"I'm not gunna be around when she gets here." He mumbled, getting up.

"What, are you going out?" I asked in disbelief. He snorted.

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes as he walked past, treading down the hallway. "I'll be in my room." As Mark emerged and they locked eyes, Roger slammed his door. Mark spit beneath his breath, then came to meet me in the living room.

"Fucking moody."

"Yeah," I looked to his door, "moody." I couldn't help feeling as if I brought it on. "Why's Maureen coming by?" I asked, following behind him as he paced.

"Don't ask me. Probably to hang on me about the riot footage. Or the other complaining she's been doing lately. Or maybe for you."

"For me?"

"To meet you. Maureen needs to know everyone." Mark was heading to his room again.

"Wait, will you be around?"

He stopped himself from going in the door, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, "Yeah." He turned back to me. "I'll be around."

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It was 11:30 when the phone rang. I was sitting on the tattered couch, my fingertips tightly laced around a ballpoint pen and a legal pad from Mark in my lap.

"You're starting to scare me." He had said two hours ago.

"How so?"

"Staring out the window like that. Like Roger." I smiled at him, dropping my hand and my chin that was in it.

"Well, Roger is pretty scary." I admitted.

"Come on, there's gotta be something you can do to entertain yourself. You must be seriously considering making a run for it with how boring this place is." I uncrossed my legs and giggled.

"I'll give it a week." A smile. "Actually, do you have any paper?"

"Paper?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, it's not for a suicide note or anything." His face fell. "Shit." I mumbled, completely mortified with myself. I really could be an ass sometimes. He shook his head.

"Nothing. It's nothing. You know, we have like a thousand legal pads around. I'll grab one for you." He retreated to his bedroom, fumbling in the corner where his equipment was set up and remerged with the yellowed pages in his hand.

"Thanks, Mark."

"Alright, so what's it really for?"

I smiled, grabbing a pen that was sitting on the side table. I curled up on the couch and touched the pen to the paper. Yes, now this was right.

"You all aren't the only artists in the city."

And now it was 11:30, and the phone was ringing. My legs were curled beneath me, my eyes glued to the pad. I had sketched four views of the same vase sitting in front of me, the lines smudged and the proportioning off. I scowled at my inability, and then listened to the excessive ringing. I looked down the hall; Roger and Mark were out of sight. I sighed. I stood reluctantly, and grabbed the phone before the machine picked up.

"Hello?"

"Oh my god, you're not screening!" Someone squealed on the other end.

"Maureen?" I knew that voice anywhere.

"…Yeah, Mark did you go through like, reverse puberty?"

"Oh no, it's Mia!" I shouted quickly.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed. "Ah, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't worry about me, I feel bad for _Mark_." She cracked up on the other end.

"I'm outside," I went to the window and saw Maureen with a pink wool hat and scarf, stomping her feet at the phone booth, "throw down the key?"

I smiled, eyeing the keys on the counter. What I'd always wanted to do. I felt the cold metal in my hand, groping them as I opened the Peter Pan window. The cold air rushed in, and Maureen staring bouncing up and down on the street, waving.

I grinned down at her, "Gladly."

Only a few moments passed until I heard Maureen bounding up the stairs. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and heaved open the loft door. Maureen's hazel eyes gleamed as she took me in.

"_Finally_. Mia Cordon." She smiled, looking small where she stood. Small was never a word I had associated with Maureen.

"_Finally_. Maureen Johnson." She giggled, and I let her wander in beside me.

"So the gang pulled a disappearing act?" She asked, twirling around the loft with her arms splayed out to her sides.

"You could say that. Collins ran off to Angel's this morning." She smiled earnestly, her eyes meeting the floor.

"Angel's…" she whispered, now looking up and biting her lip as she smiled harder. "Thank God for Angel."

I looked at her bewildered, and her dream-like demeanor disappeared.

"It's been a while for Collins. He needed this." She answered vaguely, making herself at home and taking a seat on the arm of the couch.

"What about Roger and Mark?" She asked curiously.

"Ducking it out in their rooms." She laughed, gazing down the hallway.

"So it's just you and me?" She asked, excited.

I smoothed back my caramel hair, tied up in a ponytail on my head. "Looks like it."

She giggled, waving me over. I sat cross-legged on the coffee table, feeling her hazel eyes probing me.

"Okay. How long?"

"Huh?" I asked, bewildered.

"How long?!" She squealed, cupping my hands.

"I don't know what you're asking me…" I started, the words dripping with confusion.

"How long have you been with Mark?" She said slowly, as if I wouldn't understand otherwise. My face snapped.

"No, no, no!" I shouted, laughter chopping in at the edges. "Maureen, I'm not _dating_ Mark."

"What?" Her turn to be confused.

"I just met the boys last night."

"And you moved in?"

"I…think so." She slapped her forehead in embarrassment.

"Oh god, I thought Mark finally landed a new girl."

"If he did, it isn't me." I shook my head, and we both burst into a round of laughter. A layer of resistance melted away, and the air became cleaner between us. I felt the tension shift, feeling whatever anxiety I had about my first conversation with Maureen subsiding.

"So, how did you meet them?" She asked when our laughter dispersed.

"Not sure." I answered delayed, trying to formulate a story. "Wandered up here looking for someone, and what do you know? – I did. I met Mark and Roger."

"And now you live with them?" She wondered in disbelief.

"I didn't say it made sense."

"No, no!" She defended, waving her hands animatedly around her porcelain-skin face. "I met the boys and moved in that night too."

"Yeah? Tell me about it." She took advantage of this opportunity.

"I met Collins first." She started, and I leaned in to hear. "At a performance. It was one of my first Off-Broadway parts; all I dreamt of was Broadway then. Anyway, I hated the character. More then anything. Quiet, reserved, never voiced anything. And I don't know, I couldn't connect to her. Hard to believe, right?" She joked. I smiled gratefully.

"Quite."

"I just remember that night though. He was in the front row. With his boyfriend at the time. What was his name…?" She asked aloud, tapping her chin. "Craig? Curt? Calvin! Yes, his boyfriend Calvin. Anyway, it was in the middle of the second act. And my character's sister was dying. Dying, right then and there and you could see it. But she said nothing. Couldn't go home, kept running away, never really said what she had to say to her sister. And there was Collins, just this big, black shadow in the first row; a phantom really. I thought I imagined him. But in the midst of the sister finally calling me out on my feelings, forcing me to admit to everything I kept pushing down… I saw Collins crying. This giant, strong, intimidating man with these fat tears streaming down his face…I couldn't even believe I was seeing it." Her voice quieted, her voice coming out in hushed tones. "And I watched his hand find his lovers, squeezing it within his own to steady his heaving chest, and that's when I knew that Calvin was dying. And Collins wasn't saying what he had to." Maureen stopped a moment, her vision blurring. I could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes the more she tried to blink them away.

"That was it for me." She explained. "When something like that happens, you know what ever you're doing is what you're meant to do. If you can make someone live through you onstage. I couldn't connect to my character, but he could. And I could connect to him. I did the rest of the show for that man in the front row. He found me in the lobby afterwards. All he said was, 'You made so many things clear for me.' Turns out Calvin wasn't feeling well and left, but Collins waited for me to exit the stage door. We walked home together, although neither of us went in the right direction. Damn, it must have been like, 2 am when we realized we'd ended up at his loft. He asked where I was living. I said no where really, crashing with a few friends until they got sick of me. And then he promised he'd never get sick of me. I followed him up to the loft, and I never left. Until now." At this point, more then a few tears had found their way out of Maureen's eyes, exploring the caverns of her face. I just sat there, watching her relive this moment, and I felt my own tears sting me. We were quiet for a few moments, both of us reacting to the story in the way that suited us. In whatever way we had to to get past the overpowering emotion.

"I understand what these guys are like. The spell they cast on you. But don't leave, Mia. I swear. No matter what they say or the shit they pull, _stay_. Because there's no place better out there. I can tell you that." She grabbed hold of my hands; I could feel her pulse through my skin.

I promised her, "I have no where else to be."

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A few hours past. Maureen was on her back on the floor, her hair splayed out around her head. I sat on my stomach, my legs in the air and crossed at my ankles. I fingered the zipper on my green cardigan, taking in the sound of her voice. Something was funny, and we laughed together, rolling into each other because we couldn't contain ourselves. And the laughter disappeared and we realized it was only us.

"So this is Christmas for them?"

"I guess so." She shook her head. "Joanne and I exchanged gifts this morning, but whaddya know? She had to work the afternoon." She rolled her eyes in disgust. "We're going out tonight though. I have something planned!" She squealed in excitement.

"What?" I asked, the highs and lows of Maureen infectious.

"Ice skating in Rockefeller Center!"

"Serious?" That took me aback. I lived in Queens, but I had never ice-skated at Rockefeller Center. I had always wanted to ice-skate in Rockefeller Center.

"Yeah!" She screeched. "But you know, I think it might be nice if we all went." My mind exploded.

"I think you're a genius."

"I _know _I'm a genius." She shouted, getting a high off of her idea being appreciated. "Collins will go. Collins is up for anything. And one of us can convince Marky." She told herself.

"But what about Roger?"

"He's not my territory." She shook her head. "Not now." She looked up at me, her eyes pleading.

"Does that mean he's mine?"

"I saw you with him last night." She rolled onto her stomach, then onto her knees. She grabbed hold of my arm. "_Pleaseeeeee,_ Mia. He needs to get out of this _place_. He's going to die here." Her words were surprisingly stern. Something about her face and her words and her voice told me that you didn't say no when all those came together for Maureen. You just didn't say no.

"Alright." I caved. I stood slowly. "Forgive me, Roger." I muttered.

"And you'll ask Mark?" She chirped, jumping up. I sighed and turned back to her.

"I'll ask Mark." She clapped her hands and giggled.

"Thank you!" She kissed my cheek in gratitude, her eyes huge and wild. Her tossed dark brown curls fell around her face, and her eyes exploded from within the forest. Everything about Maureen exploded.

"Joanne will be home soon. I'm gunna go back and meet her." She told me, grabbing her coat from the hook. "Tell the boys we'll meet them at Rockefeller Center at 7:30, okay?"

"What, no dinner?" I yelped.

"Joanne and I have special arrangements." She giggled and nudged me.

"Say no more," I stopped her. "7:30." I nodded. She wound her scarf around her neck and tugged on her hat. The pink made her skin glow.

"Thank you Mia. Thank you, thank you, thank you." She turned to leave when we heard a door open and close. A pair of piercing blue eyes met me from the hallway as Mark strolled towards us. He stopped immediately, like a deer in headlights. His face froze, and so did his heart. Maureen smiled slowly, and it took him a moment to return it.

"Hi, Marky." She cooed. He took a deep breath.

"Hi Maureen." That was enough.

Maureen turned to me, sliding open the loft door. "I'm not letting you get away!" She exclaimed, and I watched her disappear down the stairs. The moment she was gone, the loft felt empty. And I knew then why Mark was staring after her with that longing in his eyes.

"Mark…" I started.

"Is this gunna be the type of question I say no to?" He cut me off, rummaging through the drawers for something.

"Not if I have anything to do with it." I said, sounding more convinced then I was. He chuckled as he strolled past me, turning over cushions and clearing off the coffee table.

"What is it?"

"Maureen wants to have us all go ice-skating in Rockefeller Center. And you actually don't really get a choice weather you go or not, so I don't know why I'm asking."

"Thanks for your consideration." He mumbled absent-mindedly, his eyes scanning the room. "Wait, what?"

"Mark, PLEASE?" I begged. I followed right behind him, my hands clasped together. "I never got to ice-skate in Rockefeller Center!" He stopped his searching and looked me in the eyes.

"Yeah, okay." He mumbled. "I really need to move forward with this."

"Thank you." I smiled gratefully, and then my eyes fell down the dark hallway. "I have to go make a visit to Roger."

"Good luck. He's been holed up in there all day."

"Alright quick, what are the chances he says yes?"

"Uhm…slim to none." Mark replied.

I groaned. "You could have lied."

"Coulda." He shrugged.

The hallway seemed longer now.

I knocked timidly. "Yeah?" A bark from the inside.

"Roger. It's me." I murmured into the wood. A painful silence.

"Come in."

I gripped the doorknob reluctantly, like it would burst into flames at my touch. Either that, or Roger would. The door creaked when it opened. Probably because it hadn't been opened too much the past 6 months.

"Roger?" I called for him before I stepped into the room.

"Yeah?" He was seated on his bed and I watched him swiftly shove a yellowed Marble notebook beneath the covers. Like he couldn't take his eyes away sooner to stash it before I came in. He was slumped against the backboard, his disposition so loose and free. It was hard to believe how much really held Roger down.

"I have a proposition." I think he smiled.

"Alright." He offered.

"From Maureen." And then he turned away. "Come on Roger, please? Just hear it out?" I pleaded, slowly crawling onto the bed. His hand fell across the exposed notebook cover. My eyes followed his hands and when I looked up, he was staring back at me. I looked away embarrassed, Roger's glare still settled and unbroken.

"What is it?" He gave in.

"Ice-skating in Rockefeller Center."

"And you thought I'd say yes to this?" He gripped the spine of the book and thrust it beneath a pillow.

"I thought I could persuade you with my charm." He laughed in restricted tones; it had been so long since he'd done it freely, I knew.

"Seriously, though. Maureen and Joanne are going, we're going to get Collins and Angel, and Mark's coming, and me and…you could bring Mimi." He grunted.

"It'll be like last night." I persisted.

"Do I want another last night?" He had hard eyes, but his tone said they lied. His tone said he was really asking. I couldn't answer that one for him.

"Why do you do this?" He whined.

"Do what?"

"This. Put up with me? Beg? Drag me out? Stay patient? What are you waiting for?"

"You know, not everyone has ulterior motives, Roger. Maybe I just care."

"Why would you care? You stumbled on us last night and we roped you into the drama of the Roger/Mark household."

"I need a roof." He smiled when he realized I was kidding. "Mark's running out of patience." I said instead.

"He'll never run out. He's lasted this long."

"I'm giving him a break then." As much as I treasured these conversations I had with Roger, I wasn't up for his heavy words right now. Or my own. The sound of my voice and what came out of my mouth burned my ears, like everything was recycled phrases and naive statements. Like I believed more then he ever would.

"Come on." I grabbed his arm. I could feel the veins in his forearm. "Okay, if you were _me,_ trying to convince the ever-depressed, brooding roommate to go out on Christmas and actually enjoy himself for once with the gorgeous girl from downstairs, what would you say?"

He contemplated this, playfully tapping his chin. "I woulda' given up 14 hours ago."

I scowled. "You're funny when you want to be."

"Like now?"

"No."

He laughed. "Oh, that hurt." He grabbed his chest to show mock injury. "Mark would give up, you know."

"I'm not Mark." He looked to the floor, nodding. He was beginning to see that.

"Alright."

I jumped up in excitement. "My first successful Roger mission!" I pumped my fists in the air like a child. This sure amused him.

"Yeah, tell the press." He mumbled, getting up to stumble to the bathroom. He ran his fingers through his mangy hair with its early-morning tangles. Although it was five in the afternoon.

Once Roger made it to the hallway without turning back, my eyes darted straight to the corner of the composition book peeking out from his sheets. I looked to the hallway again, biting my lip in frustration. My fingertips itched and I inched towards his bed. That's when I heard Mark in the hallway.

"Roger?" He asked in disbelief.

"Surprised to see me facing daylight?"

"It's five o'clock." Mark informed him.

"Baby steps." Roger opened the bathroom door and shut it behind him, leaving Mark in the hall. I looked to the floor, pleased. The notebook became a haunting image in my mind as I turned away.

I was in Roger's doorway, leaning against the doorframe. I smirked at Mark who stood in shock at the bathroom door. He looked back to me, his face with a puzzled expression. He shook his head, pleased with what I'd done.

"Do you ever fail?" I stifled a laugh, looking down into the folds of my crossed arms.

I met Mark's eyes after a moment. "Not yet."

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**Author's Note:** Alright, what do you all think? I really so much enjoyed this, and the Mia/Collins conversation is probably my favorite thing in the story so far, for some unknown reason. Anyway, I know I should have really finished this, but I'm leaving for an 11-day trip and I wanted to give you all something to review! –smile- So, when I get back, there better be like, 50,000 reviews waiting. Love you all, and thank you for your continuing support !


	8. Making a Whole

Author's Note: Wow, it's been so long. Well, I've been reading a lot of stuff on the site, especiallllllllly lovablegeek, who you should check out because her stuff's incredible, and I realized I needed to put my whining behind me and actually sit down and write some of this, even though my self-esteem is down the tubes. Alrighhhhht. Enough of that rant. Enjoy? Maybe review?

-----

I was never good at figuring out the means to an end.

I understood where I was when I was there, and maybe, if I was lucky, where I was headed, but never what brought me there. And to this day, I'm still looking back down the road and wondering how the hell I got anywhere. This moment had been no exception.

Because I was sitting in a subway car between Mark and Roger, Roger looking away distractedly as he tried to brush his hand against Mimi's and make it look unintentional, and Mark drawing figure-eights in his palm with this thumb. Collins stood up with his arm around Angel's waist as she giggled with Mimi, his arm around the pole.

Call me crazy, but this had been the last thing I'd ever see happening.

At 7:00 at the loft, Mark and I had been waiting for –

"How long have we been waiting?"

Mark looked up and groaned. "Easily a half hour."

"I see why you don't invite him out." I muttered. Mark tugged at his trademark scarf wound so tight it was turning his neck red, sitting on the coffee table with his palms on his bent knees. I was sprawled on the couch, coat, gloves and all. Despite all the layers, it was still freezing.

"Roger?" I attempted again, raising my voice in frustration. "Roger?"

Mark hung his head and shut his eyes. "Roger!" He yelped. "If you don't get your ass out of that room in thirty seconds I swear I'm -"

"-you'll what?" Mark's head shot up, and Roger was towering over him.

"Thank you," he groaned.

"Oh yeah, you take it back _now._" Roger taunted.

"Shutup."

One look at Roger, with color in his cheeks and lighter eyes, and Mark and I immediately forgave him for the delay. To see some life in him was worth all the half-hours left in the world.

"We're late." I told them, handing Roger his leather coat.

"We're always late." He moaned.

"You're just now noticing the pattern?" Mark muttered.

"You're taking my job." Roger poked Mark's shoulder.

"What?"

"_I'm _supposed to be bitter and annoying."

"Then you can be obnoxious and overbearing if you want, can we go?" I hurried them towards the door.

Roger chuckled lightly. "Gladly."

We met Collins and Angel, who both showed us how to hop over the turnstiles to get on the subway without fare.

"It's not breaking the law," Collins reasoned as Roger barreled over. "It's just bending the rules."

Something told me Collins did an awful lot of that.

Now, the six of us were huddled in the subway car as it rattled, and I was trying to imagine any other moment in my life that was comparing to the ones I kept being thrown into.

Whether I was walking straight into them, or bounding over turnstiles to get there, I couldn't say.

"Do any of us even know how to ice skate?" Collins roared.

We laughed. "I don't think that's the point, man." Mark explained.

"Then why are we going?"

We glanced casually at Roger, whose eyes were darting to every corner of the subway, to take in everything he could. Collins smiled, and withdrew the question.

We wandered out of the subway car, up the stairs to the street, and all swore under our breaths to fight the cold.

"I wish it were July." I said, huddling into my coat.

Mark shuddered, imagining the heat. "No, you don't."

Mimi hadn't said much since our group convened, and neither had Roger. I watched them steal glances at each other as we hurried down the street to Rockefeller Center, and wished I was able to do that. To say more without words then with them.

Maureen and Joanne were already there, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. When Maureen caught a glimpse of us, her eyes lit up and she waved her arms wildly.

"Hi!" She bounded over to us. We exchanged hugs, jumping into one another's arms. She tilted her head and on a bench beside her were eight pairs of skates.

"My treat." She grinned.

"Can you afford it to be your treat?" Collins laughed, but he was already tugging on the skates.

"No." And the fact that she smiled while saying it told me it didn't matter.

As we all got the skates on awkwardly and were about ready to go, I realized we were breaking off. Maureen hollered to us to hurry up, but she went off with Joanne onto the ice effortlessly. Collins and Angel went off too, both skating with ease because the two of them could do anything. Roger and Mimi were still hunched over at the bench, as he laced up her skates for her.

"You and me?" Mark outstretched his hand, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Of course." I smiled. We waddled over to the ice, clasping each other's hand for balance and surprisingly, Mark didn't crash to the floor.

"You've done this?" I asked, trying to get my footing on the ice.

"Ice hockey. One season."

"Somehow I don't see you as the jock type," I got out as I felt my skate give way. Mark grasped me around the waist.

"That's the reason it was one season." He smiled, and helped me stand. He seemed to retain what he had learned that one season, because he started off and stayed on his feet, while I stumbled a few times.

"It's actually embarrassing that you're better than me at this."

He laughed. "I apologize." Once I warmed up to it, I was skating easily. It was one of those things that you watched from a distance, where you never think you can do it right. And the moment you jump in, you realize it was worth it anyway. I knew something else like that.

Life.

"You got Roger out." Mark restated.

"I know. It surprises you?"

"It does." He nodded. "But I'm not worried."

"You shouldn't be. He'll be okay."

Mark shook his head at first, but then he saw Roger's hand laced in Mimi's. He changed his mind. "Maybe."

We skated on, and Mark stopped to lean against the railing.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He chuckled. And his eyes met the tree. "I'm a sucker for Christmas." He rolled his eyes.

"But you're Jewish."

He groaned. "Don't remind me." I giggled, and saddled up beside him. "I don't know, I always loved Christmas. This tree, these lights, everything… it's something I wish I had growing up."

"I never much appreciated it," I now realized. "I mean, it was better when I was a kid. When you're wide-eyed and dreaming, and there's such thing as Santa, and your stomach's always killing you from the candy canes. It's good then. Just like everything is."

"And now?" He asked me.

"Now… it's not the same."

He turned to me slowly. "Where were you going for Christmas yesterday?"

I exhaled, turning back to the ice. "My brother's."

He treaded cautiously. "You go every year?"

"Every year for the past few."

"Alone?"

"Yeah." I swallowed.

"He won't notice you never came yesterday?"

I thought about the question. Well now he wouldn't, because we weren't even living in the same time. Because here I was, defying all laws. But if we still where, would he?

"No, he won't." I said assured. And I turned back to him. "Come on, let's go." We saddled up besides Collins and Angel.

"Hey, you're not too bad at this boy!" Collins exclaimed, clasping Mark's shoulder. He shuddered.

"Not too bad yourself."

Angel grinned at me. "How you doing, chica?"

"Pretty well, I have to say. I've never done this for Christmas. I'm loving it."

She smiled her honey-smile. "I know." There was a twinkle in her eyes, and I tried to forget the fact that this would be her last Christmas.

My stomach churned.

I channeled my inner-Roger, trying to tell Angel with my eyes to remember this moment, this day, this year. To do anything to engrain it in her mind so when she left, she left in flying colors.

Even though she would anyway.

But I don't think she heard me, because my eyes have never spoken loud enough. I shook my head and grabbed Mark's arm, we said our goodbyes, and peeled off. I wanted to give them their moments.

Maureen clutched my arm as we passed her, but we didn't stay because I saw the contortion in Mark's face.

When she was far behind us I said to him, "Eventually you're going to have to -"

"I'm trying." He cut me off. "I'm trying."

And I decided for once, not to push anything out of anyone.

Mark and I continued on, light conversation, or sometimes not at all. Just watching and listening, taking it all in. I imagined the bunch didn't get to do things like this very often, and I knew the next year wouldn't be as bright as tonight was for all of them. There was the ever-looming question of what the hell was I doing here and for how long. I turned to Mark to find an answer and saw him glaring off at Roger. Then to Angel. Then to Collins. And I realized, each one of them was taking it one day at a time. Collins and Angel, both with their disease and their new relationship, and Roger with moving on and coming into the world again. Mimi, too, was no different, and Maureen and Joanne, grateful for the moments their relationship actually worked. And then there was Mark, who was just thankful for everyday that he was still surrounded by his family.

And I realized I had to do the exact same thing. One day at a time. Whether I was there until tomorrow, or for the rest of my life. That scared me a bit, but I knew that I was starting to grow into this place and time. And besides, I had gained much more than I had ever left behind.

One day at a time.

I skated up besides Mimi. "Hey." I said to her.

She smiled to me and I saw her hand find its way to Roger's again. "Hey." She breathed.

She didn't seem as lively as last night. She seemed worn, a little frail, and her eyes didn't hold as much light. She wasn't saying much, her or Roger; they just contemplated.

"You alright?" I asked her.

"I'm okay." She was lying.

"If you, I don't know, need to go…" I started awkwardly.

"Mia." The way she said my name breathed new life into it. "I'm okay. Thank you." She said. "You got him out."

I patted her hand slowly and was turning back to go, when my skate caught a pebble and I crashed to the ice. I heard Mark swear, and the scraping of his skates towards me.

But his hand was no longer the one outstretched.

I looked up, and Roger was looking down at me. I accepted his hand, and once again Roger Davis surprised me. "Thank you," he said.

He was helping _me_ up, but _he_ was saying thank you. When I got to my feet, I looked at him quizzically. His eyes darted to Mimi, and when I nodded to let him go and he laced his fingers in hers, I knew what he had meant.

I had never felt this responsible for anyone's happiness in my life.

"You alright?" Mark finally asked.

"I'm fine." I smiled. "So's Roger."

We had been skating for a while; Mark and I were side by side, when we finally reached Maureen and Joanne. She linked arms with me, and we stayed together. Mark didn't seem to mind, and I silently gave him credit. Collins and Angel ended up behind us, skating along. And finally, we reached Roger and Mimi. Once again, we had all found our ways to each other. Collins made a joke, and we were all laughing. Mimi was starting to look livelier, more comfortable. Roger's eyes seemed brighter, Maureen was her usual bouncy self, Joanne seemed less uptight. Collins and Angel were the support and Mark and I just watched the connection happening right before our eyes.

Except, Mark didn't know where this was going.

We stopped skating at the base of the tree to gaze up. Even Roger, despite his proclaimed hatred for all things festive, took a moment to take it all in. No one said anything. The silence went unnoticed. I can't tell you the things going through all their heads at that moment. Kind of wish I could. I know that what I was thinking was Christmas had become a time of remembering for me. Remembering what life used to be, and how it had become something I never wanted from it. Remembering what my brother was born as, as opposed to what he was dying as. It wasn't a time of birth, but a time of realizing I was leaving things behind. Like watching your car trunk fly open and all your belongings being deposited along the road behind you. Everything you held close being sucked away from you.

This was the first Christmas that my life was taking a turn in a positive direction. The first Christmas about rebirth. First Christmas I felt anything at all.

"Christmas is alright." Roger finally spoke.

"Yeah, it's alright."

-----

Ice-skating was short-lived.

It was freezing, the subway was even worse, and now the eight of us were stalking back to the loft.

"I'm starving." Roger groaned.

"Second that!" Maureen yelped.

We all mumbled in agreement.

"We got enough money for dinner?" Collins asked.

"No." We chorused.

"There's no food in the loft." Mark remarked.

"Dammit." Roger groaned.

Mimi looked up at him, "What are we gunna eat?"

I smiled slow. Thought of Andrew. A few Christmases ago.

"I think I have an idea."

We found a grocery store a few blocks from the loft. The eight of us pummeled in the automatic doors, breaking off into the aisles. Roger and Mimi went off together, as did Collins, Angel and Mark. Maureen found herself in the junk food aisle, and Joanne and I trailed through the store. I picked a box of hot chocolate off the shelf.

"God, I could use this," I said.

"Take two." Joanne warned. "They're animals." I smiled, reaching for the other box left.

We passed Roger and Mimi in the back by the refrigerated section, and Roger had his eyes fixed on something.

"What?" I asked.

"I haven't had milk in…so long." I realized how deprived they were, how much they craved something I had had every day.

"We'll get milk." I told him. I grabbed a carton.

Collins came bounding over with potato chips, which I took from him.

"Oh!" I heard Maureen holler.

Joanne and I ran into her, Mark coming up behind her. She was gripping a roll of cookie dough.

"Can I make cookies? Oh, I really want to! It'll actually feel like fucking Christmas!" She bubbled.

"Maureen, we can't even pay the rent, how are we gunna pay the gas to run the oven?" Mark groaned.

Maureen pouted and returned the cookie dough. I came up behind her, reached around and grabbed a box of Oreos beside her forearm.

"Good enough." I said.

The last thing I snaked off the shelf was a box of painkillers. The boys probably hadn't had medicine since they moved to the city. Besides Roger's AZT, which he hated to take anyway.

We brought the lot to the check-out counter, and it came to a little over 20 dollars. Joanne and I, the only ones with money, split the tab willingly.

We were walking out, all gripping a plastic shopping bag, when Roger sauntered up behind me. His hands were digging through his pockets.

"Here." He said sheepishly, holding out 3 dollars to me. All he had.

"Roger, don't be ridiculous." I yelped.

"No, just take it. I don't accept charity."

"It's not charity; I'm your room mate."

"Take it," he barked.

"No, I –"

"Please." He told me, the few dollars clenched in his fist. I balled up his hand and returned it to his pocket. I kept walking and didn't stop.

Not even when a few minutes later while we were all talking, I felt Roger's hand creep into my back pocket.

I knew I'd give it back to him later, anyway.

---

We had made it back to the loft without major frostbite.

And now, the eight of us were all assembled in various positions across the living room. Mimi was on the floor, leaning on the coffee table, with Roger close behind her. Collins was in Roger's chair, Angel lounging on his lap. Joanne was on the arm of the couch; Maureen, Mark and I sprawled across it. The potato chip bag was ripped apart, mugs of hot chocolate all across the coffee table, the Oreos package half torn, the Cap'n Crunch Collins had bought spilt on the table with some actually in bowls with milk. It was a mess. But it was Christmas.

We were all laughing in turn, doubling over in hysterics. The kind of laughter that made nights worth remembering.

"Alright Roger, go!" Maureen urged.

"Okay, okay," he started. "The shittiest Christmas I can remember was… oh. Okay. I was in the 4th grade and my brother Dane and I were playing a neighborhood baseball game in the streets. It was a big deal, there was one every Christmas Eve with all the kids on the block. Anyway, I get up to bat in the ninth inning to win it for us all, and the pitcher sucks. He throws an easy one to me and I wail on it. The ball's flying and I'm dashing past first…second…I'm not even looking to see where the ball is going. Then I hear the pitcher holler, 'Oh shit' and we hear a crash. The ball had soared right into our living room window. And then, it hits the Christmas tree and the entire thing comes crashing out the front window."

The entire room erupted in laughter. Maureen stamped her feet to overcome her wave of hysterics, Mark and I ramming into each other on the couch, Collins bellowing laughter always the loudest. Even Roger chuckled to his own story.

"God, did your parents murder you?" Collins asked.

"Well, yes…after Dane and I hid in the bushes out back for four hours and had the neighborhood kids tell our parents we fled to Mexico."

A new round of laughing fits. If there was one thing Roger could do, it was tell a good story. Maureen wiped her eyes to clear the tears.

"That's great," she wheezed, out of breath.

"C'mon Mark, you go!" Collins howled.

"I'm Jewish."

At the moment, this seemed like the funniest thing in the world. We were drunk on each other's company. Either that, or the Stoli that Collins had poured into all of our hot chocolates.

"Alright guys, not that funny…" Mark attempted to calm the room.

"C'mon Mark, you must have one shitty Hanukkah story." I needled.

"No."

"Oh," Roger moaned.

"Well, that's not true -"

"See?- "

"They were all shitty."

We all doubled over in laughter at this one too. Once our laughter dispersed and we all sat trying to regain control, I realized how long we had been sitting there. It was almost four in the morning.

We were in mismatched clothes, Maureen, Mimi and Angel all requesting old sweatshirts from the boys to fight the cold. Maureen had on an old pair of gym pants she never took when she moved out, and Joanne was huddled in a blanket. We were exhausted, and I realized there was a slim to none chance any of us were going anywhere. I looked to Collins and he smiled, getting up to grab more blankets.

"So where's this Christmas on the shitty scale?" Angel asked.

"Pretty high." Roger groaned.

"What? Are you kidding?!" Maureen hollered.

"Maureen, we just froze our asses off, raided a grocery store, and sat here pigging out while talking about our pointless, ridiculous lives."

"Ya know Roger, that's not as bad as you think."

"What could be worse?" He asked.

Maureen smiled. "Doing it alone."

That shut Roger up enough.

"Well said." Collins applauded. We all smiled, settling into our blankets and our skin. Joanne sunk onto the couch besides Maureen, Angel and Collins shifted to a more comfortable position, Roger rested his head to the floor.

"Definitely could have been a worse night." Joanne said.

"Definitely." Mimi added.

We said very little after that, little sparks of conversations in throaty whispers as we dozed off. Close to 5:15, the entire room was asleep when I saw Mimi moving.

"Mimi, you awake?" I called to her.

"Yeah," she hissed, "I don't sleep much." I crawled out from under Mark's sleeping form, snaking my way to her on the floor.

"Hey." I said, sitting with my back to the coffee table.

"Hey." She returned, smiling with sleep in her eyes.

"How was tonight?" I asked.

"He was good." Somehow she knew Roger and tonight were synonymous.

"He seemed quiet."

"He's warming up." She explained. "I know what it's like after you find out what's happening to your life. It takes a while to warm up to it again."

"You'll do great things for him."

"You think?" She asked.

"I do." I told her with conviction.

"He moves slow."

"That he does." I agreed.

"Too slow?" It was a question.

"Just enough. It's caution, really." I told her. "Doesn't want to lose more of his life."

"I know that feeling."

"Is it scary?" I asked her. It seemed like an obvious answer, but I wanted to see how she'd answer it. She sucked in air quickly, shifting in her place before responding.

"It's more then scary." She whispered, like her fears were something she'd only confide in me. "It's terrifying. And you can't escape it. And you can't do anything or talk to anyone or believe in anything for a long time, because here you are wasting away in your own skin and people are telling you it'll be okay. 'No it won't fucking be okay', you want to scream. 'I'm dying, and you're saying I'll be okay?'"

I inhaled slowly, it all hitting too close to home.

"I understand, you know." She went on. "I understand I deserved it, I did it to myself, and that I need to actually make things worthwhile before I lose it all. I get it. But the only thing I hate is the lies."

"The lies?" I gulped. "Which?"

"All of them. The ones everyone else says, and the ones we tell ourselves. They're really the same, actually. Because when you first find out, you just sit there screaming and hating and crying and saying it's not fair. And then you tell yourself it's not real. The lying starts. And when you finally get yourself to come to terms, to feel anything at all, everyone around you starts lying too."

"You know people lie to protect themselves," I told her.

"But they don't deserve to." Mimi said. "I'm dying, and they're worrying about how hard it is for _them_ to accept the truth? At least they're not counting down the days."

This was something I'd never understood, nor would I. It was something that shocked me, and it's something I still think of whenever I recall Mimi and all her glory.

"You want to know my shittiest Christmas?" She asked me.

I looked at her puzzled, wondering if she was feeling lightheaded. But I had learned to trust her.

"Yes..."

"The one 2 years ago, when I found out my life was over."

I didn't know what to tell her.

"What made you get tested?" I asked quietly.

"I don't remember. One of those acts of fate, I guess. Cause I wouldn't have in a million years. But something brought me to it."

I looked to the floor. "You made one mistake," I started, "and it's not your fault that -"

"No, baby, that's what we like to think. But we made a million mistakes. And we'd keep making them if it wasn't for that damn piece of paper."

We were silent for a moment.

"Can I tell you something?" She asked.

"Yes, sure, anything." I stumbled.

"Dying is the best thing that ever happened to my life."

I had never been more in awe of anyone in my entire life.

The sky was getting lighter outside the windows, preparing for the sun. Mimi was sinking into her covers, and the bags under her eyes were intensifying. She looked so small, so tragic. But so beautiful. How you could be all three, I don't know. Only she could.

She was dozing off; I could hear her breath slowing. I ran my hand through her hair lovingly. I wished I knew more. I wished we could keep talking. I wished we had more time.

Everything in life was about time.

Finally, I crawled up besides Mimi and lied down quietly. Timing my chest to rise and fall with hers, I waited until dawn.

I needed to make sure she got up.

---

I must have dozed off. Because when I woke up, it wasn't to Mimi's soft breathing in my ear or Collins punctured sighs. I woke up to murmurs and sunlight. Which was probably better anyway.

"Welcome to the world of the living," Collins said pointedly.

I decided not to say anything. I stumbled over to the metal table, looking back at the living room. The blankets were still sprawled across the floor and furniture, but at least the coffee table had been cleared. Maureen was still tucked into the couch.

Collins was in the kitchen, as always, bouncing around gleefully as he always was in the morning. Mark stood solemnly, his face in his tea mug. No sign of Mimi, or Roger, of Joanne or Angel.

"Where is everyone?" I slurred, slumping into a seat.

"Well," Collins started, "Joanne left for work really early, Maureen's still in a coma, Mimi wandered downstairs for something a few hours ago, Roger's in his room and I told Angel I'd meet her at her place in a little while. Wanted to wait for you to get up."

"Thanks." I said, rubbing at the sleep in my eyes. "Long night."

"Yeah," Mark put in. "I better start my filming." He grumbled, heading down the hallway.

"You can't take one day off?"

"I've taken too many days off," he told me. I shook my head.

"You off soon?" I asked Collins.

"That I am. You gunna be alright here? I know you're not up to much."

"It's alright, go. I'm sure Maureen will stick around."

"Yeah, it's not like she has anywhere to be." Collins continued, going to get his coat.

"How was Mimi when she left?" I asked.

"Alright. Seemed a little off, but that's to be expected. She'll be fine. I think she went to take her meds." He told me distractedly. "Why?"

"No reason." I paused. "Well, there's a reason." I corrected myself. "I talked to her last night."

"Yeah?"

"She's not going anywhere soon."

Collins smiled, opening the loft door. "I'd like to think that. I'll catch up with you later."

I waved him off, and he disappeared down the stairs. Roger wandered into the kitchen and I was happy for some company.

"Hey," I greeted him.

"Hey." He returned. It was something.

"You just wake up?"

"Nah, I've been up. There any coffee left?"

"I think it's gone," I frowned.

"Tea?" He asked.

"Won't Mark kill you?"

His hands were already on the tea bags. "Yeah. Screw Mark." He heated the water.

"What are you up to today?"

"Same as always." He said, which meant nothing.

"I'll be here."

"I know." This was what a lot of our conversations consisted of.

"You planning on seeing Mimi today?" I asked.

"I don't really plan on anything." He snapped. He didn't apologize, but I could hear it anyway.

"I'll be with Maureen. Whatever we do, you're welcome to join us."

He didn't say anything, so I pulled away from the table to get changed. Once in Benny's room, I grabbed my overnight bag, which I had only packed to stay 5 days at Andrew's. I didn't have much with me; clothes, a sweatshirt, some money but not nearly enough, my wallet, and now the picture of the boys from however long ago. I shuddered, trying to figure out what I was going to do with only three pairs of jeans, two sweaters, a few t-shirts and a sweatshirt and an undetermined stay in the loft. I slipped on jeans and a shirt and felt someone at the doorway.

"Hey," I sighed, seeing Maureen leaning against the frame.

"What time is it?" She yawned.

"11:30." I told her. "Sleep good?"

"Okay." She sat on the bed. Her eyes found my overnight bag. "Can't believe you have your entire wardrobe in there."

I laughed, and crashed down beside her. "Hardly. I was going somewhere for a few days. Had no idea I'd end up here."

"Go home and get your stuff."

I shook my head in defeat. "Can't."

"You run away?"

"You know, Roger thought the same thing."

"Is it true?"

"No." I admitted. She waited for me to continue, and when I didn't I felt her hand clasp mine on the torn comforter.

"I don't need to know." She stood quickly. "Come on."

"Where're we going?" I asked her.

"My place." I didn't ask why, or for how long because those weren't the types of questions Maureen bothered answering.

I followed her down the hallway, stopping at Roger's bedroom door. "Rog?"

"Yeah?" He mumbled from inside.

"I'm going to Maureen's for a while. We'll be back. Mark's going out filming. Collins might call."

"Okay." He said, devoid of emotion. I leaned into the door.

"Mimi's downstairs."

I didn't get an answer. Maureen rolled her eyes, and we headed down the stairway out into the cold.

The sun was beating down, and you'd think it'd turn the city into a sauna. But that was what summer was for.

"How far's your place?" I asked her.

"It's not. A little farther up the East Side."

It was more than a little farther.

When we treaded into Maureen's apartment, I realized she had really traded up. There was an elevator. You didn't have to throw down keys. That was enough of a step up.

But even inside the apartment, there was matching furniture without tears, a kitchen with a refrigerator, an oven that worked, a bathroom that was bigger than a closet.

"You've done well for yourself."

"No, Joanne has." She stated, dropping her keys on the counter top. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Nothing like the loft." I said, my eyes still searching every corner of the room.

"You're right. It's not." Her tone said that wasn't as great as I had believed a moment earlier. "The bedroom's nice too. Come with me."

A short hallway out of the living room, and a doorway was tucked out of view. I stepped in; my eyes met a queen bed with clean sheets, two full closets, a small bathroom filled with white porcelain.

"The guys give me a hard time, you know."

"Hm?" I wondered aloud.

"For this. Leaving the loft, the starving artist life and moving in with Joanne, to a place with clean windows and appliances."

"You beat yourself up over it?" I asked curiously.

"Not much. It's not selling out, because I still don't have any fucking money. Just looks like I do, since Joanne owns all of it."

"Doesn't seem like you."

"What, to live in a life that I don't even own?"

"Yeah." I said.

"No, it doesn't." She shook her head before padding over to the closet, pawing through the contents. "For you." She tossed a sweater on a hanger into my arms.

I just looked puzzled.

"Come on," she urged.

"What's this for?"

"You have like, 6 pieces of clothing. I have everything from college, anything I've collected from anywhere and everywhere since I moved to the city, and all the shit Joanne's bought me. I won't miss any of it. Please, take it. It's smothering me."

I looked at her quizzically, and then fell into a smile. I wasn't going to pass this up.

"Hey, this would look fantastic on you…" her voice trailed off, and I watched her eyes light up.

I knew then I was on Maureen's good side; exactly where I wanted to be.

---

We returned to the lot a few hours later, Maureen and I lugging a few bags of her clothes.

"This is ridiculous," I told her, out of breath.

"What, me having that many clothes or allowing you to raid my closet?"

"Both." She smirked, dragging her bag across the pavement. I fingered the money in my pocket, pulling out a quarter at the phone booth to call Roger.

It rang four times, and the machine picked up. "Roger, it's Mia. Answer the phone, I'm across the street," I paused and waited for Roger's voice to click on the line.

"Hi." He said.

"Hey," my eyes wandered to Maureen, who saw a bunch of magazines at a newsstand. I fished a few bucks out of my pocket and allowed her to pick some up. She looked at me gratefully and scurried off.

"Throw down the key?" I asked Roger. His face was at the window as he chucked down the rusting chain.

"Here." He said into the phone.

"Thanks, I'll see you in a minute." He hung up, and Maureen returned with a copy of the Village Voice and two fashion magazines.

"I can't remember the last time I got to read this girly stuff," she said breezily, and we headed up to the loft.

Bursting in the doorway, Maureen and I collapsed on the couch, the bags at our feet. She grabbed a fashion magazine and I headed right for the Village Voice.

There was a few moments of silence as we read, until I spoke up.

"You working?" I asked her.

"Not now. Still looking."

"There's an audition," I started, my eyes skimming the print, "Broadway, open call." I finished.

She sighed lengthily, defeated. "There are more important things than Broadway."

"Like what?" I exclaimed.

"Protests. Actually doing something worthwhile." I had clearly underestimated Maureen.

"But you love the stage, and you know you want to be on it again."

She shook her head.

"April used to come with me to auditions."

I was quiet.

"I was performing when…" she cut herself off. "I quit that week."

The silence was deadly, and it got the better of Maureen when she picked herself off the couch and hung up her coat.

"Come on," she grabbed my arm. "Let's go put away this stuff." She hauled a bag towards Benny's room.

"Yeah," I said eyeing her coat, "I'll be right there."

It'd be a few hours until she noticed I ripped out the casting call and left it in her pocket.

"What's all this?" I whipped around to see Mark winding his scarf around one of the hooks.

"Back so soon?" I asked.

"It's freezing. What, 'dja raid the dump?" He asked, his eyes on the garbage bags.

"It's clothes. From Maureen." I finished. "She felt sorry for me." I joked.

"She's good at pitying," he chuckled and headed to the kitchen. "She here?"

"She's putting away some of the clothes in Benny's room."

"What about Collins?"

"Angel's."

"And Roger?" He asked.

"In his room."

"Has he been out today?"

"Don't know. Just got home."

"Roger!" Mark bellowed.

No response.

"Man, he's stubborn."

I laughed. "What do you need him for?"

"There's a band playing. I thought maybe…it'd remind him of what he should be doing."

I nodded. "Roger?" I helped.

Still no answer. Mark and I headed for his door. We knocked together.

"Roger?"

"Roger, we're coming in there whether you want us to or not." Mark snarled.

He flung open the door, and the room was empty. I gaped.

"He was here ten minutes ago. He let Maureen and me in!"

Mark scanned the room, kicking around at the filth for any possible signs of any new needles. Anything to say Roger had taken a few steps backwards.

"He must have climbed out the fire escape," Mark reasoned aloud, his eyes still scanning. He put his hands on his hips, and Maureen found her way into the hallway.

"Roger's gone." I told her.

She shook her head. "He's fine. Mark, you remember. He used to take walks all the time."

Mark nodded, and let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, he did."

"He'll be home." She reassured us. Mark and I believed her.

"Yeah, I just got nervous, you know, cause -"

"I know." Maureen cut him off. Mark pushed past us back to the kitchen and Maureen shrugged.

"I'll go get the bags," I told her.

Mark's voice from the kitchen –

"Where the hell is my tea?"

I laughed. Roger caused trouble even when he wasn't home.

----

As usual, I had lost track of time and lost myself in my work. The legal pad was in my lap, I had about a sixth of the pencil left and I was sketching the skylight. So it was primitive work. But it was mine.

"Babe, I'm gunna take off." For the first time in what felt like decades, I looked up from the blue lines against yellow parchment. My eyes swirled inside my head, until they focused and refocused enough to make out Maureen.

"Is it late?"

"Only 9:30." She shrugged, her coat over arm.

"How long have I been working?" I asked, massaging my head.

"Probably 3 hours or so." I looked down at the legal pad to see only half of the skylight messily sketched, with some amateur shading.

"That was unproductive," I groaned, standing up and stretching.

"But it's something," she said, which couldn't have been more true. "I'll see you tomorrow." She kissed my cheek lightly.

"Night Maureen," I bid her as she headed for the door. She turned back to face me suddenly.

"He always comes home."

I looked at her quizzically, and then fell into a smile. "How did you know I was waiting for Roger?"

She grinned, "I lived here too." And the loft door shut behind her.

I waited a few moments after she left, the grin still plastered on my face. I swept a few chunks of hair that had fallen out of my messy bun behind my ears and repositioned myself on the couch. I rolled up my sleeves, got the pencil between my fingers again and heard the loft door open.

I bounded off the couch. "Roger!"

"Wow. That's a new one," Collins grinned.

I plopped back onto the cushion in defeat. "Sorry," I waved my hand, "I thought-"

"Yeah, yeah. Where's the boy?" He asked.

"He's gone."

Collins froze. "What?" He choked.

"He's fine." I told him. "I mean, he just went out for a walk."

"When?"

"3 o'clock."

"Who takes a walk for six hours, Mia?"

"The city's a big place."

"The city's an awful place."

"There's a lot to look at."

"There's a lot to screw with."

I gave up. "Maureen said he'd always go off for walks." Mark peeked out from his room.  
"You're home," he greeted Collins.

"Did you know Roger's been gone for six hours?" Collins demanded.

"Yeah."

Collins gaped at him incredulously. "And this doesn't alarm you?"

"Collins, this is typical Roger. He'll be back," Mark stated firmly, taking a seat beside me on the couch.

"Neither of you have thought to do anything?" He asked of us. I trembled from the sound of his voice echoing in the loft.

"I told you Collins, there's nothing _to_ do. He comes home when he comes home."

"And when he comes home with fresh track marks, do you still say that?"

Mark snapped. I could hear the crackle in my ears. He stood up and paced over to Collins.

"Don't tell me what Roger will or won't do. How would you know how long he stays out? How would you know if he'll come home? You weren't even here."

"Mark, you know I was teaching -"

"Yeah well, this isn't your classroom. We're not your students. Don't tell us what Roger is capable of, don't recite us your textbooks, okay? I know what Roger is capable of, because I'm the reason Roger's alive."

Mark glared Collins down, a man double his size and stature. But he held his ground, until he stalked off and slammed his bedroom door.

I stood up and started, "Collins, he's -"

"Right." He finished. He disappeared down the hallway as well.

The loft was suddenly silent. I looked around, uncomfortable from the tension still hanging in the room. I crashed onto the couch once again, pulling the legal pad into my lap as a source of comfort. Once my fingertips were wrapped around the pencil, I started to relax.

But I only got ten minutes of that.

The loft door opened again that night.

And in stalked –

"Roger!" I vaulted off the couch to him as he trudged through the door.

"Don't," he stopped me, "I'm fine." He dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, leather jacket still wrapped around his shoulders. I slowly unwound the scarf at his neck, and he let me. I got up to hang it and then slowly reseated myself besides him.

"Where'd you go?" I asked.

"For a walk." He said into his hands. Maureen was right.

"Why'd you sneak out?"

"Hoped to skip the third degree," he said. "Wanted to see if any of you would trust me. Judging by your little display when I walked in, I'd say no."

"You know, trust doesn't cancel out fear."

"Fear," he scoffed, leaning back, "Fear of what?"

"No one wants you to -"

"Fuck up again."

"To get hurt." I said, instead.

"Fear's for me, Mia. Not for you guys." He leaned back into the couch, intertwining his fingers over his eyes. I got up quietly, pulling a dirty dish from the cupboard and placing Roger's AZT, two painkillers and an Oreo cookie onto it. I filled a glass of water and returned to Roger. His hands were still over his eyes. I sat besides him, offering the plate.

"What's this?" He asked, without looking.

"Comfort food."

He laughed. "AZT and painkillers. Funny how that changes, huh?"

Not funny in the way that I would laugh.

He took the medicine slowly, painfully, letting it slip down his throat. When he coughed, I put my hand on his back to steady him. He nodded thanks.

"Maureen trusted you." I said when he popped the Oreo in his mouth.

"Yeah?" He mumbled between bites.

"Uh-huh." I leaned back besides him. "And Mark."

"You don't say?" He smiled slyly.

"I do." I grinned.

"Did you?" He asked.

I took his hand in mine before he could jerk away. "Give me reason to."

Roger and I heard footsteps at our backs, so we whirled around to see Mark padding out of his room.

"You're home." He said.

"Perceptive." Roger nodded, standing up. "So, you going to reprimand me now, Pops, or wait till later?"

Mark shook his head. "It'll have to wait." His coat was over his arms. "We're taking a little trip."

"But Marky, I just came in from the cold," Roger jested.

"Well, we're gunna have to put you in harms way for just a few more hours."

"Where we off too?" Roger asked him.

"CBCG's."

Roger looked at him hard.

"There's a band playing."

Roger knew exactly what he was trying to do and he looked around in anger at first. And then his face softened, and I knew Roger was finally beginning to understand the actions of Mark, and appreciating them.

"We got enough time to get there?"

Mark smiled. "Always do." He clasped Roger's shoulder.

"Mia?" He asked me. I jerked in surprise.

"No. Go." I told them, pushing them to the door. I knew this was not a moment meant for me. "I'll see you later tonight."

"Okay." Mark drawled as they headed for the door.

"Night, Mia." Roger said quietly.

"Night."

And they were out the door.

Satisfied, I picked up my legal pad and headed out of the living room. I looked in all the bedrooms until I found Collins.

"Got enough rooms?" I joked, sitting beside him.

"Nah," he spoke quietly, his hands in his lap, "when it was all of us, Benny had his room, Mark and Roger shared, Maureen had hers and I slept on the couch whenever I wasn't teaching."

"Man, you have enough of you starving artists in here?"

He laughed. "And then April hung around." He continued. "She and Roger would commandeer Mark and Roger's room, Mark was always sleeping in Maureen's, and I'd take hers when I got home."

"Tight?" I asked.

"Yeah." He exhaled, reminiscing. "But not painful."

"What about when April stopped hanging around?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Then it got painful."

I nodded.

"You know, I didn't leave to escape Roger. I left to pay for Roger. He would have fucking died if I didn't work to pay for his AZT. And even then, all of us were starving. Me at MIT, and them here."

"You don't have to defend yourself for me." I told him. "But don't lie to yourself." This hit him right in the chest.

He got up and paced to the window. "I did leave to escape Roger."

I nodded.

"But I didn't want to – I mean, I didn't mean to – Mark… he knew what he was doing."

"No he didn't." I said. "He had no idea. He made it up as he went along."

"But he cared about Roger."

"Don't you?"

"Yeah but…differently." Collins felt remorse. Even I could feel it radiating from him into the air. "Mark's ruined isn't he?"

"Not ruined. But broken." I followed Collins' footsteps. "So's Roger. And so are you. You're all kind of chipped, I guess."

"How do we end up this way?"

I shook my head and looked out the window, to find his line of vision. "I don't know, Collins. I really don't know."

There was a long silence filled with our breathing until he found another question to ask.

"You think a whole bunch of chipped people could make a whole one?" He asked me.

I smiled, the words fitting into my heart in just the right way. We looked out the window, at the awful city, at the frightening city, at the city that chilled and abandoned and left you cold and alone. But it was the same city that brought them together. The city that brought me to them. It couldn't be all bad. There was good. Everything had good. It was just a matter of how deep it was, and how bad you wanted to find it.

"You're the philosopher," I said to Collins that night, "but if you're asking me, I think that's what we have to believe to get by."

---

Author's Note: Alright, and there's your chapter eight people. Thank you all for your continuing support for this ridiculous creative whim. Any ideas for plot you can leave in a review, I'd love to see what you're thinking about. And thank you all for writing and posting, because your brilliance gives me inspiration. REVIEW!


	9. Brand New Year

Author's Note: Back again. Chapter nine. Please read, please review.

----

I have no idea what time Roger and Mark returned to the loft that night, or their condition when they did so. Roger never even mentioned the show. But when I heard Roger's guitar sounding from his bedroom a few days after, I knew Mark had done something right.

It was Thursday. I had shown up on the doorstep on Saturday. Collins had been spending most of his time at Angel's, and Maureen had been spending most of her time with me. She had no where to go, so she had reason to hang around. Mark was always filming, and Roger was always brooding. However, he seemed to be waking up, and I still yearned to understand him. I spent a lot of time admiring Mark, studying him, trying to understand the inner workings of his mind. He knew when to push with Roger, when to lay off. When to reach and when to recede. I, however, would lunge at any sign of anything from Roger, which wasn't the way to go about it.

"He lives to refuse. So if you ask for it, he'll turn away." Mark had told me.

"How do you _help_ someone like that?" I had asked one night, when I was starting to feel frustration creeping in. I had never not been able to reach anyone.

"You have to let him surprise you," Mark had tittered without much thought, gathering a few things. "You have to let him help himself."

I was starting to fall into stride with the family. I realized that Joanne was always working, and that she felt disconnected from us all. I realized that Maureen never felt out of place anywhere, but that she had so much more to her then the bubbly, over-expressing exterior we all fell into. I realized that for Roger, anger was the only emotion he could figure out enough to express something that wasn't anger at all. I realized that Collins didn't seem to need anything, to want anything, or to crave anything – the only person I'd ever met who seemed perfectly content with the things at his fingertips.

I realized that they couldn't be more different if they tried.

I'd be lying if I said I missed home much. Because the truth was, I didn't miss it even before I came to the loft.

I had formed a bond with Maureen that I was particularly overjoyed with. She had found the casting call in her coat pocket, and reluctantly agreed to go.

"Roger has to let go," I told her, "so do you."

Which somehow culminated in me losing feeling in all my limbs at 6 AM on Thursday morning outside a theatre just off Times Square.

"You're actually able to sing after this?" I asked, digging my hands like a clam into my pockets, stamping my feet to regain feeling in them.

"Why wouldn't I?" She asked, her breath hanging in the air like an old coat.

"I don't know," I mumbled. "It doesn't like, freeze your vocal chords or something?"

She threw her head back in shivering laughter. "You're ridiculous."

"No, _this_ is ridiculous!" I exclaimed, splaying out my arms. "How long do we have to stand here?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes an hour or two. Sometimes five."

I gaped incredulously. "Maureen! Five hours?!"

"You…can go back to the loft if you want," she said meekly, the infamous pout making its way onto her face.

Which meant, you're not leaving even if your arms fall off.

I grumbled and huddled into my jacket.

----

It wasn't quite five hours. But it may as well have been.

We finally made it inside the theatre, a thousand girls it seemed lined up in the long corridor. There was heat, which I hadn't felt in five days, which wasn't something that was easy to get used to.

They all had numbers. Which made me look down on the world of theatre then. I looked around at the other prospects. One girl had her hands laced into her boyfriend's, one was mumbling to herself silently, one had her mom on the phone to convince her that she was good enough. So many girls, with so many pasts and impending futures, so many hopes, so many dreams, so many promises that they'd keep trying, so many people to stick it to, so many murmurs of "I can play this part, I was born to play this part".

"1134." A head peeked out of the theatre.

So many girls, so many hearts. And all they were were numbers.

"She has the same dress as me," Maureen hissed.

"Wha?" I snapped back to her.

"Look!" She tried again. "She has the same dress."

She jerked her head in the direction of a girl a few people in front of us who was, in fact, sporting the same dress as Maureen. Not as well, might I add.

Maureen's eyes darted back and forth, and instead of the normal confidence radiating from her, I smelt insecurity.

"Anyone who gets life is insecure," Andrew had once told me. "Because they know it doesn't matter how good they are – there's someone better."

"What if they _don't_ get life?" A much younger, much more naïve Mia had asked him.

He shook his head, like this was the most absurd question he'd ever heard. "Everyone gets life."

I was still trying to figure out if everyone did.

_Andrew, get out of my head._

I turned back to Maureen, searching for something to respond with.

"But she doesn't have the same talent." When she looked at me with unsure eyes, I felt like an idiot. The words didn't provide any consolation.

"How do you know?" She asked me.

I shrugged. "I don't."

And then she reached down and grabbed my hand. And I figured that it didn't matter I was such a blundering idiot; someone caring at all was enough.

She leaned into me and whispered into my ear, "You know even less then April."

I smiled, "Thank you."

---

When Maureen bounded out of the room, she dashed towards me and threw me into a huge hug.

"It's been way too long since I did that!" She exclaimed.

"Hug someone?"

"No!" She smacked my arm. "Auditioned on _Broadway_," she beamed.

"So it went well?" I asked her, as we were strolling out; tagging along just like Mark did.

"Of course," she flipped her hair back. "Like it always does."

So much for insecure Maureen.

----

When Maureen and I called the loft from the same phone booth from across the street, the last person we expected to pick up was who did.

"Collins? What are you doing home?"

"Trying to get rid of me?" He hollered.

"Not yet," Maureen lunged at the phone. "Throw down the key."

Silver sprinkled down from the loft.

"Thank you."

----

"So, how'd it go?" Collins drawled, as we came into the loft.

"Fabulous!" Maureen beamed.

Collins looked to me. "You heard the lady. Fabulous."

"Good to hear," he said, leaning in and wrapping his arms around Maureen. She bounded down the hallway into her old room. I finally took a moment to look around the loft and I saw a few mismatched boxes on the couch.

"Spring cleaning?" I asked Collins, who was sipping from his coffee mug.

"It's December," he informed me.

I shook my head. "Really, what's up?"

"Movin' out, Miss Cordon."

I'd known this was coming. But somehow, it still came as a shock.

"You serious?" I breathed.

"That I am. Moving in with Angel."

"Things are well, I suppose."

He nodded. "Very."

I looked up at him slowly, words falling out how they chose. "Collins, I-"

"Would you mind sticking around, help me box my shit up?" He cut me off.

I dug my hands in my pocket, surprised. "Uh, sure."

"Great." He got back to packing. "Go entertain Maureen for a while, I'll let you know."

"Yeah, okay." I nodded as he traipsed off to his bedroom. Maureen strolled out, looking at me quizzically.

"What?" She asked pointedly.

"Nah." I shook my head. "Forget it."

Maureen left after a while, and I remained with Collins to help him as I had promised. I sat with my legs out on the cold floorboards, masking tape in hand as I taped up his belongings. He continued to gather up what he could, never stopping a moment to even look over at me.

"Collins?" I finally asked him.

No answer. He searched through the same cupboard for the fourth time.

"Collins?"

I tried again. He sighed. "Yeah?"

"Your sudden departure wouldn't have anything to do with a certain argument in the last few days, would it?"

He looked at me, his grin to his ears. "You're sly, girl." He chuckled and continued pawing through the loft.

"I'm serious." I tried again, waiting.

"You're incessant." I nodded.

"Does it or does it not?" I asked again.

He exhaled slowly, lowering himself on the couch. "I have to get out, Mia."

I looked at him in surprise – escaping being the last thing I expected from Collins.

He continued. "I love the boys, but I don't got all the time in the world girl, I really don't. And I can't help Roger live life and live my own too. I got someone, someone who loves me Mia." He reached for my hand. "I don't wanna fall through the cracks."

I nodded slowly. Something inside me said this wasn't running. It was something else entirely.

"If your days were numbered, you'd choose to live them for you, wouldn't you?" He asked me. My head worked its way around the question.

"Yes. But why doesn't Roger fall in rank with you?" He exhaled, pained.

"Roger has fallen in rank with me for years. My oldest friend. But they're right, I can't tell Roger he needs to wake up anymore. He has to himself. And you know that. And Mark knows that. We've always known that. But we love Roger, and that's why you try anyway. And at one point, you have to admit that there are some things you can't do." I looked away and so did he; both knowing without words that even if Mark could bring himself to admit this, he'd never stop trying.

"You're giving up." I'm not even sure why it came out, because I wasn't thinking it. But the small part of me that could only remember what that felt like was finally bringing itself to the surface.

"I'm not. I'm accepting. Because that's what life is." His hand was on my shoulder. "And that's exactly what Roger will realize."

There were so many questions I wanted to ask Collins, so many things I didn't understand. Was it harder to stay then to have to feel them all watch you walk out the door? How long does it take to come to terms, especially when said terms are so unforgiving? What's the measure of time in a dying man's head?

But I didn't ask anything. Instead, I turned away, I let him stand, and I let myself believe the things he'd told me, because that was all I wanted to do.

"One more box," he told me, as if he hadn't just subliminally admitted his fears.

I taped up the last one, watching Collins disappear right in front of my eyes.

"Do the boys know?" I asked quietly.

"No," he admitted. "They're out. I don't know how…"

"I'll tell them."

He looked up in surprise. "You'll tell them?"

"I will."

He tucked a box under his arm. "Mia, I'm not scared."

But he was scared. He was scared they'd think he was running, he was scared they'd think he was weak, he was scared that he was embarking on something with no guarantees, he was scared that he was losing parts of himself at any given moment.

But I just nodded. "I know."

-----------------

Mark had understood.

As soon as he came in from the cold and he saw me sitting solemnly on the couch, he sat besides me.

"Collins is gone."

He looked down at me. "He's with Angel, right?"

I nodded.

"Good."

He got up and went to the kitchen.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?" He asked.

"He's not scared. He wants to be with Angel, because they really have something and he's not afraid of Roger or not being able to handle him or the resentment you may still have because he was always gone and -"

"Mia?" He cut me off.

"Yes?" I took a breath.

"None of that had even crossed my mind."

I sat back. So Mark had understood.

Roger would not be as easy.

He came in after eight, having had dinner with Mimi at the Life Café. He saw Mark and I lounging on the couches and playfully hopped between us.

"So, how long have you two been staring at the wall?" He jabbed Mark in the chest. Mark flinched. Neither of us had the courage to respond, or to tell him. So we stayed silent.

"Alright then," Roger drawled, standing up.

_He's walking towards his room._

_He's going to see Collins' room._

_He's going to see Collins' room empty._

Roger froze in the middle of the hallway.

He glared down at me and Mark. "So you weren't staring at the wall."

"Collins moved in with Angel today," Mark tried to say effortlessly.

"That's convenient."

"What?" Mark shot back.

"Will you be gone tomorrow too, Mark?"

"Roger, what -"

"It's too bad he waited till I was out," Roger went on sardonically, "I would have helped him pack his things."

"Roger," I stepped in.

"Mia, you going too? Here less than a week and can't take the responsibility of supporting me? Because that's what it is guys – I'm just someone you all have to take care of."

Mark stood to take on Roger. "Cut the bullshit." He growled.

"Why don't you all fucking walk out now, and we can save the act alright?"

"Roger, cut it out."

"No Mark, I don't think I will. Because Collins is gone, and that's just one more person I can cross off my list."

"You know, maybe Collins is doing something for him, instead of something for you."

"Well excuse me for not allowing him to do both at once!" Roger snarled. "Dammit." He collapsed on the couch.

His buried his head in his hands beside me and I slowly laid one hand on his shoulder.

"I know you don't want to be this." I whispered.

He didn't answer.

"It's okay, don't say anything. Because you're angry, and all that comes out will be angry. Collins is with Angel because he's dying Roger. And he refuses to do it alone."

"But he can let me do it alone?" Roger mumbled.

Mark shook his head. "It's your choices, Roger. You stay in your room, and you don't talk, and you don't engage. There's a girl downstairs who's just where you are, and Collins is setting an example. Please Roger. How long will it be?"

"Till I'm dead?" Roger spat.

"Till you're alive."

As Mark said this, he looked at me. I could feel so much weight in the room, like there always was. Already so tired of Roger's outbursts, already so tired of going in circles on the same things, already so tired of watching my life be played over again through new people.

"I wish I could hate him." Roger groaned. "If I hate him, I won't hate me."

My hand stayed where it was on his back. "You could stop hating. Collins wants you to accept, Roger. And as long as that takes you, you will eventually come to it. But he knows that no one can get that through to you. Him sticking around isn't going to get you to understand that."

"I understand," he said through his teeth, "but I don't accept."

Mark shook his head. "Then we'll stay." And although we were in the same place we were moments ago, although there was no grand resolution and moment of clarity, although nothing was solved, this seemed sufficient. This seemed enough.

And with that Roger stood and paced to his bedroom.

Mark and I shut our eyes. "When he does accept," I murmured to Mark, "it will be beautiful."

He took my word for it.

----

Friday passed without much exchange, our unspoken longing for Collins filling up the empty spaces in the loft. Saturday was New Year's Eve, and the magic of the city at night barged through us as the hours trickled away. Roger, Mark, Mimi and I spent most of the day outside the loft. Much to our surprise, when we returned we were greeted by a hunk of metal.

"You're shitting me." Roger mumbled.

"What?" I asked him, mid-laugh with Mimi.

"There's a padlock on the door!" Mark hollered.

Sometime after that is when we christened a breaking-back-into-the-building party.

"New Year's rockin' Eve!" Mark's camera glued to his face.

"How long till next year?"

"Three and a half minutes."

Mark, as always, was directing. Roger, Mimi and I stood aimlessly as Mark instructed us through various methods of breaking in. We nodded like we heard him, and as soon as he wandered off all three of us dove for the champagne. The bottle made it to all of our hands and we took a seat on the steps in front of the building.

"You know, I've had a lot of New Year's Eves," I said, wiping the champagne dripping down my chin, "but none of them have been quite like this."

Roger chuckled. "You're not the only one."

Mimi chugged from the bottle and set it besides the three of us. "Three years ago, when my parents found out I wasn't going back to school for the next semester – that was my New Year's Eve like this."

"You're joking." I declared.

She shook her head earnestly. "Spent all night trying to get back in the house. They made me yell up to the second story window that I would go back to school."

"And did you?" Roger asked her.

"Pft, no." The three of us laughed whole-heartedly. "I never kept any of my New Year's Resolutions."

"Me neither." I confided. "Roger?"

"I never made one. I can't even _spell_ resolution."

As our laughter receded, I turned to Mimi to watch her face contort in contemplation.

"You know what?" She declared, jumping up to stand over Roger and I. "I'm giving up my vices – I'm going back."

"Back?"

"Back to school."

"Really?" Roger asked her, still seated.

Mimi shrugged. "Probably not."

"That's my girl." We laughed and he stood up to embrace her.

"Eviction or not -," she said when they broke to arm's length, "I've got you." Roger didn't say anything, but his smile was promising.

"It's gunna be a happy new year." I whispered.

Mimi was still huddled into Roger's chest when Mark staggered back to us.

"Coast is clear!" He heaved, out of breath. His eyes met the bubbling champagne bottle. "You're supposed to be working!" He declared, stomping over to grab the bottle. "That's for midnight."

"Mark, you know once Collins got here he'd down that thing in a millisecond." Mimi nudged him.

"Speaking of which, where are they?" His eyes searched the street. "There isn't much time."

"Maybe they're dressing," Mimi offered. "I mean, what does one wear that's apropos for a party that's also a crime?" She sashayed across the steps and did a mock curtsy and Roger wrapped his arms around her once again as him and I laughed despite Mark's dissatisfaction.

"Chips, anyone?" The four of us whirled around to find Maureen leaning against a lamppost, black leather and all.

I swear I saw Mark drool.

"You can take the girl out of Hicksville, but you can't take the Hicksville out of the girl." He said through his camera lens, catching Maureen as she stuck her tongue out.

"You're a bit underdressed, aren't you?" I jested.

"It's amazing Maureen, you never over do it." Roger joined in. She glared at Roger before turning her attention back to Mark.

"You know Marky, my riot got you on TV and I think I deserve a royalty!"

"Maureen!"

"Be nice you two," Mimi mediated, the champagne a peace offering, "or no god awful champagne."

"Don't mind if I do." The bottle was to Maureen's lips in a moment. "No luck?" She asked as she gulped.

Roger shook his head and dug his hands into his pockets. "Bolted plywood, padlocked with a chain." He rubbed his stubble. "A total dead end."

Maureen scoffed. "Ha, sounds like my ex-girlfriend." Mimi, Mark, Roger and I rolled our eyes in unison as Maureen started one of her famous rants about Joanne's ever-prominent flaws. As she rambled, we skidded off to the door once again.

"How long can she go for?" I whispered to the group once we were out of earshot.

"Eternities," Roger groaned. "I once left the room and she was talking for an hour before she realized I wasn't there."

We chuckled lightly, the strains of Maureen's chattering still reaching us.

"And you know, she can be so pigheaded sometimes I just want to -"

"You wanna what?" Joanne seemed to step out of the darkness, her hands on her hips.

"- absolutely murder my mother, god what a bitch, HELLO POOKIE!" Maureen stumbled. She laced her arms around Joanne's neck.

"Nice cover," Joanne snickered. "Guys," she called to us. "I did a bit of research with my friends at legal aid. Technically, you're squatters – there's hope – but just in case,"

She dangled a 6-foot cord from her wrist. "Rope!" We chorused, catching on.

"Alright, let's see," Mark panned the scene. "We can hoist the line…"

"To the fire escape." Joanne finished for him. Mark nodded, and returned to panning.

"And tie off at –"

"that bench." They declared simultaneously.

Maureen tsked and leant into us. "You know, I think I preferred them hating each other." Mimi and I smiled.

Joanne called to her, "Start hoisting, wench."

Mark, Joanne and Maureen skirted off, and Mimi and I still tittered as we watched them go.

"I think I should be laughing," Roger shrugged, "yet I forget how to begin."

"Roger, how can you forget?" I asked him.

"I'm feeling something," he assured us, his eyes darting from Mimi to me, "but the only thing I've ever done is hide."

Mimi turned to me slowly and we shared a smile.

"Last week," he continued, "I wanted just to disappear. My life was dust." Mimi and I finally broke our gaze.

"And now?" She urged hesitantly.

"And now…" He smiled. "It just may be a happy new year."

"How new?" She asked.

He lifted Mimi off the ground and twirled her. "Brand new." I watched on overjoyed. Mimi was off the ground, but they were both falling.

"Bond – James Bond!"

"Collins!" I called to him. He sauntered over with a blonde Angel on his arm.

"And Pussy Galore – in person!" She hollered.

"Pussy, you came prepared," Mimi giggled, always one to play along.

"Of course," Angel continued, fishing through her bag. "I was a Boy Scout once… and a Brownie. Till some brat got scared."

This was punctuated by Roger, Mimi and my chuckles.

"Aha, Moneypenny! My martini," Collins leant into Mimi.

"Will bad champagne do?"

"It'll have to," Collins grabbed the bottle. "Beggars can't be choosers," he gargled through gulps.

Roger laughed as he said, "That's shaken, not stirred."

"How long we have?" I asked.

"Two minutes." Mimi jumped in.

"Where's everyone else?" Collins asked when he finally parted with the alcohol.

"Playing Spiderman." Roger gestured to Maureen attempting to scale up the building in stilettos.

Angel shook her head and started to work her magic.

"5, 4, 3," we chorused. The padlock snapped. "Open sesame! Happy New Year!"

Slow clapping was heard from the distance.

Benny was sauntering up behind us.

"I see that you've beaten me to the punch."

I glanced around to remember the images on all their faces. Collins stood steadfast and strong with crossed arms, Angel shot dirty looks from the corners of her eyes, Roger sucked on his teeth, Mimi bit her bottom lip in disgust, Joanne restrained her lover who stood with her hands digging into her hipbones, and Mark looked to the ground fingering his camera. I tried to give myself a reason to like Benny.

"How'd you know we'd be here?" Roger stepped forward. Benny waved his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

"I had a hunch." Reason lost. Roger stepped forward and I quickly clutched his forearm.

"You're not mad?" Mark treaded cautiously.

"No." Benny started, circling our entourage. "On the contrary, Mr. Cohen I came by to put an end to all this." He ran his fingers over the rusted padlock. His eyes met ours again. "A shame you went and destroyed the door…"

We all dispersed as he cut through us to address us like we were another mob of homeless people he was clearing from a lot.

"A change of heart, Benny?" Mimi seethed.

"You could say that." He flashed his teeth. "And the credit is all yours. You made a good case."

"What case?" Roger snarled, breaking free of my grip.

"Mimi came to see me and had much to say."

She gaped incredulously. "What?" She shrieked.

"Mark, get this on film."

"Yes Master." He piped up, his camera returning to its home.

"I regret the unlucky circumstances of the past seven days,"

"Circumstance?" Roger scoffed. "Benny, you padlocked our door!"

"Touche," Benny's glare fluttered to Mark at the use of his phrase. "But it's with great pleasure," he added in a noble bow – always one for dramatics, "that I hand you this key."

Angel mocked claps off to the side as Collins rolled his eyes.

"Fuck, it's dead." Mark exclaimed, knocking his camera on its side.

"Reshoot!" Benny demanded.

"Oh I see," Roger grabbed Benny by the sleeve, "this is a photo opportunity."

"Roger," Mimi stepped between them, whispering to Roger to calm him as he seethed.

Maureen stepped up next. "The benevolent God ushers the poor artists back to their flat. Were you planning on taking down the barbed wire from the lot too?"

"Anything but that!" Roger added bitterly over Mimi's shoulder.

"Clearing the lot was a safety concern," he challenged Roger. Then he turned back to us. "We break ground this month, but you're welcome to move back in."

"Yeah, and be crushed to death by a wrecking ball?" Collins snickered. "No thanks."

"And that's why you're here with people you hate, Benny?" Maureen sidled up besides Collins. "Why don't you put your tail between your legs and run back to Muffy and your father-in-law?"

"You know, I'd rather be here – hell, I'd rather be anywhere – then Westport." Benny said, the first sincere statement he'd made all night.

"Spare us, old sport." Roger growled.

"Mimi, how about you use your seductive ways to get Hothead over there to cool it?" Benny chided.

She spun around and dug her fingernails into her hips. "What?"

"Liar!" Roger hollered.

"Why don't you tell them what you wore to my place?" All our eyes fell on Mimi.

"I was on my way to work," she stammered helplessly, then turned back to face Benny head-on.

Benny cupped his hands and pretended to whisper to Roger. "Black leather and lace." A grin slithered its way onto his face as he snaked through us to lean up besides Mark and I. He rubbed his thigh. "My desk is a mess, I think I'm still sore."

"Cause I kicked him and I told him I wasn't his whore!" She snarled through clenched teeth.

"Does your boyfriend know who your last boyfriend was?"

Roger broke through us to Benny and screamed, "I'm not her boyfriend and I sure as hell don't care what she does!" I watched Mimi crumple and Roger stalk off, pushing Collins out of his way.

"People," Angel stepped in, "is this anyway to start a new year? Have compassion, Benny just lost his cat."

"My dog," his eyes met the ground, "but I appreciate that."

"My cat had a fall and I went through hell," Angel offered.

"It's like losing a – how did you know she fell?"

"Champagne!" Collins popped up between them, the bottle in his fingers.

"Don't mind if I do." Benny sighed. "To dogs!" He toasted.

"No Benny, to you." We chorused.

"Let's make a resolution."

Mimi hung her head and allowed Angel to wrap an arm around her thin shoulders. "I'll drink to that."

"Let's always stay friends." Collins added.

"Even though we have some, er, disputes," Joanne continued. We all laughed a bit. Disputes? To say the least.

"This family tree's got deep roots." Maureen raised her glass and we nodded solemnly. I watched flickers of reminiscing appear on all their faces.

"Friendship is thicker then blood," Mark went on.

Roger's hands were still in his pockets, his eyes were still on the ground. "That depends." He roared.

"Depends on trust," Mimi spat.

"Depends on true devotion," Roger countered.

"Depends on love," Joanne soothed as she shoved Mimi towards Roger.

"Depends on not denying emotion," Mark said knowingly, also shoving Roger who shook him off.

"Perhaps," he reasoned.

"It's gunna be a happy new year." Angel whispered to him.

"I guess."

"It's gunna be a happy new year." Maureen assured him, taking his arm.

Roger finally broke into a slight smile. "You're right."

We all promised him, "It's gunna be a happy new year."

Each of us downed our glasses and I watched them start filing in. Roger and Mimi hung back, and I hid in the doorway to catch their exchange.

"I'm sorry," they mumbled at the same time.

Roger shook his head coyly. "First fight."

Mimi breathed a laugh. "First of many." She kissed his cheek and strolled off a bit.

"God willing." I swear I heard him whisper. His eyes never left her wandering figure as she looked around a bit frantically. "Coming?" He called.

"In a minute," she called back with searching eyes. She could still sense Roger so she whirled around. "I'm fine," she assured him, "Go."

He watched her quizzically and then she smiled. It was infectious I suppose, because her grin spread to Roger and he turned back to the door. When he saw me hanging in the doorway he sidestepped to get beside me, but lingered in front of me. I thought he'd say something and I thought I would too, but surprisingly just our shared grin that promised a better day was all we needed.

"Well, well, well," I heard someone croon. I looked back for Roger but he had already disappeared up the stairs. Bewildered, I popped my head out the doorway to see a hunched finger looming over Mimi. In a brief moment, she had become more frail and gaunt-looking.

"It's gunna be a," the figure continued, waving a packet of what to Mimi was white gold, "a happy new year."

She hung her head but clawed for it desperately. Her eyes darted both ways as she slipped some cash into his hand. They were spotlighted by a lamppost, and I tried to picture this act a side-stepping dance, where no one led and they always came back for more. The man chortled and whispered, "There, there." I saw his hand reach around to grab her ass, but Mimi peeled off quickly. Just as I was about to duck into the building, Mimi was at the door. Her throat caught and her eyes widened, and I just watched her take on the characteristics of a deer in headlights. She was about to speak, but I just dropped my head. Slowly, she breathed in and slithered past me. I kept my eyes to the floor as I listened to her clank up the stairwell.

The moment I lifted my head, I took a step out into the night and I watched the man slink back into the darkness of which he came from. The things that happened in that darkness, I had never asked to become a part of. But with Mimi's guilty eyes and her quick footsteps, I knew it wouldn't be as simple as I had once imagined.

_"Brand new,"_ Roger had sworn.

"_We made a million mistakes. And we'd keep making them if it wasn't for that damn piece of paper."_ Mimi had told me on Christmas in the moonlight.

That was the moment when I realized there was nothing in this world strong enough to change someone. Not disease, not promise, not love. Your life is something completely different after you learn that.

The wind whistled nightmares in my ears and I shivered as I crossed my arms in the night. Realizing I wasn't meant to be out in the cold, I started back into the loft.

_It's gunna be a happy new year .._

_----_

The loft was a different place after New Year's.

But different took on a whole bunch of forms.

Collins still lived with Angel, but they spent most of their time at the loft anyway. Angel continued to worsen, but the light that radiated from her never dimmed. Collins was offered a big teaching job, but turned it down to stay in New York. I could tell that he was sensing Angel's decline, but had yet to admit. I decided to wait around until he did.

Roger was now living downstairs with Mimi, but the two of them also spent most of their time with us. Their relationship was never sure, but the moments when everything fell into place were beautiful. Mark and I would just lock eyes across the room and share the same joy in seeing Roger happy. He and I still talked, but most of the time there were no flared arguments. Roger seemed to forget he was dying. Or he was at least trying to.

Mimi's health was always unsteady. The only thing constant was her exchanges in the back alley that I'd watch through Roger's old bedroom window. She'd sneak back up the stairs and the only one ever around to here her was me. Sometimes I'd meet her in the hallway. Most of the time, I didn't leave the window.

Joanne and Maureen had their petty arguments a few times a week, but all major catastrophes stayed at bay.

Mark and I lived together, and while the world around us changed we did not. It was mid-January. We pretended time stood still.

"January 17th, 10 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Mark and Mia's second attempt this weekend to wrangle the group together for an outing." Mark narrated, panning the lot as I sat sketching on the couch. "And how's it working for us Mia?"

"It would if Angel and Collins would leave their apartment." I called without looking up.

Mark chuckled. "Touche."

He dropped his camera and plopped down besides me. "Whatcha drawin'?" He cooed.

"Nothing," I yelped, clutching the pad to my chest.

"C'mon Mia, every free waking moment you have your head's buried in that pad. Can't you at least let me see that you're not plotting mass destruction or world abomination?"

"Mark, do you ever show me your films?"

"Tou-"

"Don't even say it," I cut him off. I slipped the pad beneath the couch cushion.

"Seriously Mia, if you're any good – maybe you should try to get a job for the gallery down the street. I know they're looking for some resident -"

"I'm not that good." I assured him.

"How do you know?"

I shook my head. "Just do." I wondered how long I could skid by without working. I had no records, no name, no license but the one from my old life. As far as this New York was concerned, I never existed. Mark looked at me with pained eyes and every time we shared these gazes I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him why I was here, why I wasn't here, who I was and who I wasn't, why I couldn't show him my art or why I could never utter my brother's name without a shiver running down my spine. I wanted to tell him why I couldn't tell him any of this, but then he'd turn away and stand up just like he was now.

"Mimi will be up in a minute," He said as he stalked off.

"MIA!" Mark and I shuddered.

"Hi Maureen," I moaned.

"Mia, we're conducting a science experiment." She said bluntly.

"Uhm, what?"

"Hey, nothing illegal in the loft alright?" Mark called from the kitchen.

"You don't pay your rent and you have a wood burning stove," we all turned to the doorway. Mimi stood against the door with arms folded. "How much more illegal could this place be?"

"Haha, are you a stripper or a comedian?" Mark grumbled. "Where's Rockerboy?"

Mimi waved his question off. "Passed out from work."

"Roger and manual labor," Maureen tsked. "Never thought I'd see that."

"It's just until the band starts up again," Mimi said knowingly as she hung up her coat.

"Or until Roger starts up again." Maureen took my arm and led me to the bathroom.

"Mimi!" She called. "You have the goods?"

"Do I ever fail you?" Mimi grinned, sporting a plastic bag from a convenience store.

The two of them dragged me straight into the bathroom despite my protests. In a moment, the faucet was running.

"Maureen, Mimi, really, what's going on?"

Mimi pulled a box from her bag. "We're making you over."

"You're dying my hair orange!" I shrieked, wrenching the box from Mimi's hands.

"It's auburn," Maureen heaved.

"Why?" I screeched.

"You'll see," Maureen singsonged.

"Mimi?" I turned to the beauty helplessly.

"Can't help you on this one."

"So you're letting her do this to me without knowing why?" I whined.

Mimi nodded animatedly.

In a second, my head was dunked beneath the gushing water.

"Maureen really, I don't want -"

"Mia." She stopped me, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Trust me. I have my reasons."

The least I could give them was that.

"How long's the dye last?" I caved.

Maureen grinned. "6 weeks."

I exhaled. "Go ahead." And my head again met the faucet. I felt Maureen and Mimi maneuver around me, screaming over my head on how to work the do-it-yourself dying kit. At one point, I heard Collins and Angel bound into the loft. Finally, my hair was drenched with dye and the room reeked of chemicals.

"Smelt like this when…" Maureen started. Her voice trailed off and I saw Mimi look to her. Maureen just bit her lip and grabbed another lock of my hair.

Soon enough, the two of them were working a blow-dryer around my head, brushing through my hair and using hairspray to create volume. Every time I tried to catch a glimpse in the mirror, Maureen would turn my chin or Mimi would slap my cheek.

"Nice try," she'd taunt. "It's gunna be a surprise."

"I don't do well with surprises," I warned them. But I figured the last 3 weeks had been a surprise, so I just shook my head and let them work their magic.

The moment I felt the bursts of warm air stopped, I snapped my head up. Mimi twirled the cord around her blow-dryer and grinned, while Maureen got gazed at me with a far-off expression on her face.

"What?" I asked her and she broke from her daze.

Her smile could melt ice caps. "Nothing," she promised, "it's nothing." She didn't remove her eyes from me when she called urgently, "Mark! Collins!"

The girls shoved me out the bathroom and Maureen stepped up besides me.

"Guys," her voice was shaky. Angel grinned ecstatically, Collins jaw dropped and Mark gawked.

"Chica, you look incredible!" She squealed.

"Thank you," I smiled. "I haven't seen it yet."

"God Mia," Collins got up and started to pace to me. "Maureen, she -"

"I know." She sighed.

"Maureen," Mark spoke throatily, "when Roger -"

"When Roger what?" All heads turned to the door just in time to see Roger's eyes widen to the size of golf balls.

No one said anything. Mark shuffled his feet and Maureen's eyes darted around the room.

I heard Roger's breath get unsteady and Collins stepped forward to speak up. But before any words could leave his lips, Roger spun around and disappeared through the door as quick as he'd come.

The room started to move again. Collins looked defeated and Mark just shot daggers through his eyes at Maureen.

"Are you out of your mind?" He whispered harshly.

I looked up to Maureen. "What happened?" I asked her, still completely confused. She shook her head with the utmost sympathy and led me back into the bathroom with her hand on my shoulder. I finally saw myself in the mirror.

"My god," I breathed. I moved my nose close enough to the glass that my breath formed condensation.

Before I could ask, Maureen slipped something into my palm. I raised it.

A driver's license.

April Ericson.

My eyes met the picture and then the mirror once again.

The same image stared back at me.

----

Author's Note: Figured I'd stop here, since it's been so long since I've updated. Again, feedback is greatly appreciated as I try to move this story along as best I can. Thank you all!


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